Chapter Four
X Marks the Spot
The stench of Churiya’s remains caught in Tim’s throat, and the half-Elf Void Mage gagged and then vomited explosively on the factory floor. The lights overhead flickered and then shut off once more, the last lingering vestiges of Churiya’s mortal force sputtering out. Stockholm put an easy hand on Tim’s back as the young man hunched over, his stomach recoiling in disgust.
Hina felt a similar urge coming on, but she choked it down. After all, she had only done what she was supposed to, right? The sheer power she had felt from Churiya had proven to her that indeed Stockholm dealt with the gods, and it served as proof of something else; potential did not always equal reality. She had sensed that Churiya was capable of great destruction, yet for all of the energy he possessed, the Lesser God of mischief had hardly proven much of a challenge overall.
The Ancient spells used to finish him off certainly added to the advantage the trio had held over Churiya. After another vomiting fit from Timothy, Hina approached and laid her hands on Tim’s shoulders. “Panacea,” she invoked, using another of the more useful Q Mage spells on her companion. Immediately a calming warmth passed through Tim’s stomach, and his throat, raw from gagging, ceased to burn.
“Thank you,” he offered weakly, standing up and embracing her unexpectedly. She blushed and wondered for a moment what to do, but she settled for patting him on the back and releasing him. The two stood a foot apart, and then turned their attention to Stockholm, who was looking up at the walkway and the pile of flesh that had been Churiya’s mortal manifestation.
“Mr. Stockholm,” Hina started, picking her words carefully. “I thought I sensed a lot of power coming from him before. Yet, this battle didn’t seem to be much more difficult than others I’ve been in,” Hina observed.
“I don’t doubt that you sensed power in Churiya,” said Stockholm. “However, he is a god of mischief. Most of his powers belong to the school of Illusion. He has the power to deceive, though like a fool he tried to face us in head-on battle.”
“It seemed to me like you knew him somehow,” said Timothy. “He mentioned that you were an errand boy for the gods. Is that true?”
“Mostly,” said Stockholm, settling for giving the Elven pair a half-truth. “I often work as an emissary of the gods’ collective will on the Mortal Plane. Most of my time is spent living my life, however,” he added for good measure, hoping that Oun and his kinsmen were listening. “The gods, both Greater and Lesser, may stand in judgement of us all. However, they must surely look favorably on those willing to serve their collective will,” he said, angling his eyes toward the ceiling. He could vaguely feel the eyes of the Greater Gods upon him.
“Well, now that we’ve dealt with him, what’s next,” asked Tim, regaining a full measure of himself. While still nauseated by the stench of the corpse up on the walkway, he no longer had the adrenaline sickness that accompanied pitched combat. The next time, he thought, I’ll handle it better. I just hope the next bout isn’t anytime too soon.
“For now we will head back to my home,” said Stockholm. “Hina, give us a Haste and we’ll get back in short order.”
“No need,” she said with a smile. “I have use of the Teleportation spell, and I can return to anyplace I’ve been before with it. Just take my hand,” she said, offering each man one of her hands. Stockholm took her left, and Timothy her right, and both could feel the icy glow from her body as she summoned up her mana for use. The trio disappeared from the factory’s interior in a flash of light.
An unseen observer in the factory solidified himself, changing from the form of a dying plant in the second office near the front of the factory into the humanoid shape he usually preferred while traveling the Mortal Plane. He struck a match and lit his pipe, and sauntered out of the office and strode across the walkway all the way down to the remains of Churiya’s mortal body. “You really should have been a bit more deceptive, god of mischief,” Lenos said to the corpse. “You were dealing with the best, after all,” he said, hunching down and tapping the remains with the tip of his pipe.
The trio reappeared in Ignatious Stockholm’s living room, a few inches above his coffee table. They came down in a huddled heap, smashing the table into dozens of pieces as they groaned and grunted on impact. Stockholm sat up and rubbed his head, which he’d had the pleasant fortune of striking on the hard wood arm of his couch. “I think you need to work on that spell a little, Ms. Hinas,” he said with a moan.
“Sorry,” Hina offered lamely. She sat up and crossed her legs in front of her, propping her upper body on her arms. “I’m usually more accurate with that particular spell, but the Lightning Wrath spell used a lot of my mana reserves. I didn’t properly adjust for Teleportation.”
“No worries here,” Tim said, extracting a sliver from his left leg, looking at the dot of blood at the point of injury. “Hope you didn’t care too much for this table, Mr. Stockholm,” he said with a nervous grin. The Red Tribe Werewolf shook his head and clambered to his feet, holding his back as he shuffled off into the kitchen. From the kitchen he headed down an attached hallway, back toward the one guestroom he maintained in his home.
Here was the finest example he had of his willingness to make friends. The room sported a bed sized for a Minotaur, and two plush oak dressers, each hand-crafted by Elves. He flipped a switch on the wall next to the door, and soft light flooded the room, which was by all accounts more sizable than his own sleeping quarters. A fine floor rug stretched almost to the four corners of the room, and it had fabulous animals and creatures embroidered on it in a tightening circular pattern. At the center of the rug, at the foot of the bed across from him, stood a man-like silhouette, demonstrating the ideal that at the core of all beings stood the sentient creatures of Tamalaria.
The guestroom had an attached second bathroom, though it only had a shower stall instead of a full tub for the Elven folk in his company to use. Still, it was better than nothing, he supposed, and they could both use some rest after dealing with Churiya. The sheer amount of magic they’d used had been incredible, despite only using a pair of spells to finish the Lesser God of mischief. The power had fluctuated enough in the old factory to raise the fine fur on the back of his neck, and Stockholm no longer questioned their ability to stand and fight in the face of adversity.
He headed back into the living room and found Tim and Hina both nearly passed out on his couch. “Hey, there’s a guestroom for the two of you,” he said, getting their attention. He pointed to the hallway from the living room back to his own quarters and the master bathroom. “That’s me at the end of this hallway. Your quarters are through the hallway in the back of the kitchen. Get showered and get some rest. We’ll talk more in the morning,” he said. Timothy and Hina both thanked him, and made their way together back toward the guest quarters arm in arm.
Stockholm, once again alone with his thoughts, headed back to his own room for a respite. As he shed his layer of armor and then his vest, leaving only his pants on, he looked out through the window in his chamber to the quiet streets of Desanadron. Well, he thought to the city at large, I’ll be taking off for a while. Don’t change too drastically while I’m gone. He let out a large yawn, and lay down on his bed, falling quickly asleep.
Running, running, sweat pouring down his forehead in sheets. He could smell the creature pursuing him, though he could not name it. The scent of fresh blood, clinging to his nostrils as he heaved in fresh air and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Don’t look back, he thought as he pumped his arms and legs. You can’t look back. And yet, as every time before, Timothy Vandross looked back over his shoulder.
What he saw there, pursuing him through an endless stretch of darkness, was a man he’d only known by textual description and woodcut drawings. A tall, regal man with a patch over one eye, wearing a heavy suit of blue steel armor. A black, billowing cape fluttering out behind him as he pointed an accusatory finger at Timothy’s retreating back. “You are my son,” the figure intoned in a voice raspy enough to give Tim gooseflesh. “Your destiny is written in your blood!”
No, Tim thought vehemently, lashing out with various elemental spells at the oncoming figure, each rebounding harmlessly off of the man’s armor. I am not like you! I will never be like you! He cast several more offensive spells at the figure that was his father, but each was dashed or batted aside by a deft, armored hand. Useless, Tim thought as he turned back around and ran headlong into the darkness.
A town began to take shape in the darkness, and Timothy realized he recognized it. His hometown, the village he’d left behind in the Elven Kingdom. He turned a corner and stood with his back flat against the sundry goods store. Panting and feeling like cold liquid fire had been poured into his lungs, Timothy waited for the reappearance of his father, Richard. But instead, in the street before him, several dozen misty figures began taking shape, shadows stretching from the trees and buildings to form people he’d known throughout his life, schoolmates and neighbors. The moment each one formed a definitive shape, it would point the same sort of accusing finger at him. “Vandross,” each person rasped.
One of the figures, in the form of Armin, stepped forward from the crowd. He grinned maliciously. “You are your father’s son, and will turn out just like him. We should kill you now and not run the risk of it happening again.”
No, Tim tried to cry, but found he could form no words. Instead he turned on his heels and ran off into more darkness. In his dreams, he attempted to outrun the haunting spirit of his heritage.
When Stockholm prepared the morning pot of coffee for himself and his guests, he made certain that he put out the sugar and creamer. When Timothy came slumping into the kitchen, Stockholm’s immediate impression was that the boy hadn’t slept well, if at all. Hina appeared in the doorway almost immediately behind him, and Stockholm used his sensitive nostrils for a moment’s observation. Neither smelled like sex, but young Tim did carry a lingering odor of sweat. Probably nightmares, he presumed.
“Coffee should be ready in a few minutes,” Stockholm offered, taking the familiar seat at the head of the table. “We’ll talk about our next step after we’ve all woken up a bit more.” Tim and Hina both grunted unintelligible responses, and took up seats on either side of the Red Tribe Werewolf. He took the opportunity to look each Elven figure in the eyes. He spied the restlessness and last vestiges of sleep in Hina’s countenance, and felt relieved slightly by that. But when he looked into Tim’s eyes for a brief moment, he felt like something was staring back into his own heart and soul, something other than Timothy himself. He mentally recoiled, and turned his attention to the air between the Elves.
Haunted that one is, he thought to himself. Stockholm got up and retrieved three mugs, pouring equal amounts of coffee into each before setting them on the table. The trio sat amiably and quietly at the table, sipping the warm brew, each coming more awake with the passing minutes. It was Tim who finally spoke and broke the silence. “We’re going to head north, right? To the nearest ‘X’ mark on that map of yours?”
“Yes,” said Stockholm. “It marks a tear in the fabric of our reality, and we must deal with anything we encounter nearby. I can seal the rift on my own, but I’ll need you two to help me with the outsiders.”
“Outsiders,” asked Hina.
“Yes. The gods have informed me that there are beings now in our world that do not belong here. If we are able, we are to negotiate with them and get them to go back through the rift into their own world. If we are unable to convince them, we are to destroy them.”
“What if they just don’t want to go back,” asked Tim, his voice low and whispery. “What if they just want to explore and see our world, maybe stay here?” Here was a possibility that Stockholm hadn’t thought of. What was he to do if that were the case? What if curious Humans from another world, uninhabited by people such as he, found they preferred the realm of Tamalaria? Who was he to tell them that they couldn’t stay on in his realm?
“That much I’m not sure of,” Stockholm admitted finally. “I am certain the gods will take that possibility into account now that you’ve aired the question, however. I only pray they’ll provide an answer before we encounter the question face-to-face. Before we leave, though, we’ll need to get some travel supplies,” Stockholm said. “If either of you smoke cigarettes, I recommend picking up a carton before we leave the city. It might be a while before you’ll get another chance.” Both Hina and Tim waved their hands and shook their heads. “Good. It’s a nasty habit anyway.”
“My mother goes through two packages a day,” Timothy said with a light chuckle, remembering his mother and her particular vices. “I don’t know why, but she’s been smoking those things for as long as I can remember.”
“You’re a half-Elf. I imagine that memory is pretty lengthy,” said Stockholm.
“Not really,” offered Tim. The trio fell silent once again for a minute.
“Well, we should pick up some camping supplies,” said Hina. “We still don’t have a tent, and that might be more useful than sleeping in our bedrolls under the night sky.”
“Agreed,” said Stockholm, trying to remember where he’d tucked his own camping gear. “You two head to the travel goods store, and I’ll get my own stuff together,” he said, rising from the table with his mug. He looked out into the living room, at the remnants of his coffee table. “I’ll get that disaster cleaned up too,” he said, at which Hina cringed slightly.
Timothy and Hina headed back to the guestroom and grabbed their cloaks and boots, strapping them on and heading out into the balmy day of Desanadron. They walked as before, arm in arm, simply enjoying each other’s company without having to say much of anything. Something gnawed away at Hina, however, and she couldn’t wait until later. They had the chance to talk alone now, and she wanted to take it. “Tim, you were twisting and turning a lot last night,” she said, looking up into his calm face. “Is there anything bothering you?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Timothy said, purposefully being vague. He didn’t want to spoil the day already by drudging up his night terrors. “It was just some bad dreams, that’s all.”
“You’re sure,” Hina asked, squeezing his arm tightly. She hadn’t been with him long, but she’d become rather attached to the half-Elf Void Mage. He beamed a smile down at her and nodded, and she let the subject drop for the time being. They approached a travel goods store, purchased a simple two-man tent, and Tim packed it away in his rucksack. He was quickly running out of room in his bag, but he had everything he needed, at least.
When they got back to the front of Stockholm’s house, they spotted the ruins of the coffee table at the curb. The Red Tribe Werewolf himself was sitting on his front porch, sipping the last of his coffee. He set the mug down, and joined them on the street. “Do you have horses,” he asked.
“Yes, they’re at the stables,” Timothy said. “We’ll have to go get them first. Do you have a mount?”
“Don’t need one,” the Red Tribe Werewolf said. He began his transformation down to the form of a hulking red-furred wolf, his own armor, clothes and equipment fading into the spirit realm where all lycanthropes’ belongings went when in their animus form. “I get by just fine without.”
“You can talk in your animus form,” Tim asked breathlessly. Stockholm, in the form of the wolf, gave him a lupine grin and nodded. Even in animus form, he still stood from paw to shoulder at around Tim’s stomach in height. Tim patted him on the head lightly.
“I’d ask you to refrain from doing that too much,” warned the Red Tribesman. “It’s a tad humiliating.” Laughing at their companion’s grumbles, Timothy and Hina led the way to the stables. They retrieved their horses, paid their fee, and took to their mounts, walking them at an easy gait through the city. Almost three hours later, when they finally reached the northern outskirts of the city, they spurred the horses into a trot, which Stockholm matched with good stride. After a few minutes, he took the lead, heading north and slightly east. He wanted to stop by the Tiverski brothers’ home first.
“Churiya,” bellowed Oun as the Lesser God of mischief was led into the Gathering Hall in shackles. The Gathering Hall of the Heavenly Plane was a nice, neutral location for the Greater and Lesser Gods to convene when a large number of them had a common interest or issue to discuss. Churiya walked between Shoshev, a Lesser God of the Simpa Race, and Marnab, a Lesser God of law. Both gods escorting him were known for their abilities to do battle, and both were almost as powerful in the physical sense as any of the Greater Gods. As a result, they often served as jailers, and neither took offense to this duty. Due to some trickery Churiya had played on them both over the ages, they in fact took some delight in shoving him around.
Churiya looked up at Oun, who stood before a table at which most of the Greater Gods sat in assembly. Even Sonamo, the Greater God of chaos was present and accounted for. He, like his kin, had a fierce expression of disapproval on his face. Churiya fell directly under his domain, and the Lesser God had acted without even his approval. Such insolence demanded punishment, and for a moment, Churiya wondered what fate awaited him.
Oun strode forward to meet the prisoner, and he slapped him once hard across the face. To Oun it was a light blow; to Churiya, it felt as though a thousand trees had just fallen on his head one after the other. “Do you have any idea how much havoc you have unleashed?”
“Well, I have a vague sort of notion,” said Churiya, which earned him yet another hard slap. A few more of those, he thought, and I won’t be a god at all. I’ll be a grease stain! “Forgive me, mighty Oun! Forgive me oh council, I didn’t know how bad things would get!”
“We sealed Guirdejef away for good reason,” intoned Truth, one of the Holy Triad. “You know that Maragshet has had his ear, and you know that he was already unstable. His powers interfere directly with our works and our followers on the Mortal Plane. Did you think that he would be safe to unleash once again?”
“I just thought it would be a little jolt of fun, maybe liven things up a bit,” Churiya said pitifully from his position between his jailers. “It’s pretty boring up here, you know? And there hasn’t exactly been any major catastrophe, right?”
NOT YET, said Death from his seat at the long table. HOWEVER, HE HAS ALREADY CAUSED A FAIR AMOUNT OF TROUBLE. NOTHING ON A SCALE THAT CANNOT BE HANDLED, YET. BUT I EMPHASIZE THE ‘YET’ PART. The council at the table nodded their heads in agreement.
“Can’t we just seal him away again,” asked Churiya, fishing for an easy way out of his predicament. He knew he didn't have many worshippers in the Mortal Plane anymore, and if the council saw fit, they could just adjust the worship from Churiya to Sonamo. It was a frightening possibility for Churiya.
“Unfortunately, no,” said Lenos, puffing away on his pipe. Oun returned to his seat at the long table, immediately to Lenos’s right. As the most neutral of the Greater Gods, Lenos held the honor of being seated directly in the center of the line, thus commanding the most attention and final word among the Greater Gods assembled. Churiya had never had a run-in with Lenos, but he knew just from the look in Lenos’s eyes that he was not in good shape. “You see, in order to seal him away again, the damage he’s done must be undone, and by mortals. We already have someone working on that.”
“Stockholm,” said Churiya with a quiver. “And the two mages with him. They are quite skilled, I must say,” said Churiya, deciding that perhaps kissing a little ass would be best just now. “You have all exercised great wisdom in choosing them for the task at hand.”
“We wouldn’t need them to do this if you hadn’t meddled,” Oun groused, garnering more mutterings of agreement and nods. “Lord Lenos?”
“Ah, yes. On to the matter of your punishment,” Lenos said. “We require you to rescind your miracle, Churiya. Can you do that?” The Lesser God of mischief grinned, feeling the hope of escaping major reprisal for his actions. He nodded vigorously, and concentrated his energies on locating Guirdejef in his mind. Not far away, he thought, getting a fix on the Great God of doorways. He focused hard, and withdrew the energy of his miracle from Guirdejef. While it wouldn’t stop the half-mad god from working the rifts he’d already created, it would stop him temporarily from making any more.
“It is done,” said Churiya. The council all sensed the dampening of Guirdejef’s power from a distance, and even Death inclined his head in understanding. “I have revoked my miracle. If you want, I can forfeit forthcoming miracles for as many centuries as you’d like,” he offered with a smile. But Lenos shook his head, and the constant grin ran away like shadows when a torch is lit.
“No, Churiya,” Lenos said, and as if on cue, Death rose from his seat at the long table, scythe in hand. “Your crime is too severe for such light punishment. We have spoken, all of us, at great length, and have come to agreement on your sentence.” Lenos rose from his chair, and waved his hands in a strange, arcane gesture before him. Churiya felt something break inside of his astral body, and felt suddenly sluggish and drowsy. “Churiya, your few worshippers on the Mortal Plane will soon give up on you. We have seen to it to influence their minds and hearts just enough to make a logical change of faith to Inkoma, the Lesser God of pranks and jests. You are hereby stripped of your title and powers as a god,” Lenos said.
AND NOW, THE SECOND PART OF YOUR JUDGEMENT, Death said, leaping over the table and bringing his scythe down through Churiya’s body. There issued a loud sound as of blood spraying in a jet, but no blood escaped the former god’s body. Instead, a mist of water sprayed out. A small blue crystal of light remained where the god had turned to fluid, and Death took it in one of his bony hands. WHERE SHALL I BE SENDING THIS ONE, Death asked the council.
“Send him to Maragshet’s Afterlife,” said Oun after a moment’s hesitation. “A few thousand years there ought to teach him a valuable lesson.”
The trip from Desanadron to the Tiverskis’ home was mostly uneventful, though Stockholm could feel the general wrongness west of the wooded area they entered. The trees grew thick around the Tiverski home, providing shade and shelter from the sun’s rays, which although not fatal to any of the three Vampires within the cottage, would do serious damage. Stockholm took his bestial form as Tim and Hina dismounted, and the Red Tribesman approached the front door and knocked.
He didn’t expect an immediate reply, but Richard Tiverski only waited a moment to open the door and greet the Red Tribesman. “Ah, Stocky,” Richard said, eliciting a short snarl from Stockholm. “So good to see you again! And I see you have a couple of friends with you! Please, come in, come in,” he urged, stepping aside to admit the Werewolf, the Q Mage and the Void Mage. Stockholm took a step inside and looked around, admiring the homey styling of the cottage’s den area and the step-up kitchen across from it. He noticed a jar filled with some red fluid on the counter, though he hadn’t seen a healed wound on any of their pigs in the penned yard next to the cottage. He pointed to it.
“That’s not pig’s blood,” Stockholm said plainly. Hina hesitated on the doorstep behind him. She’d never dealt with a real Vampire before, only read about them, and she knew nothing of the Tiverski brothers. She had no reason to want to enter a Vampire’s lair. Timothy, however, had heard of the three gentleman Vampires. He knew of them only through Armin, whose father had had dealings with the trio, but he knew they weren’t typical bloodsuckers.
“No, it’s not,” Richard admitted. “An acquaintance of ours visited just the other day and gave us a healthy donation. He routinely does, when he’s in Desanadron,” Richard said with a smile.
“Anyone I know?”
“Might be. He’s a Simpa fellow, just got back from some unsavory business involving a fugitive from the Elven Kingdom. He’s a Bounty Hunter by the name of Portenda the Quiet. Do you know him?” Stockholm allowed himself a brief chuckle and nodded.
“I’ve met the man,” he said, leaving out the story of their brief battle in Desanadron. “That’s not what I’m here for, though,” he said quickly. “I wanted to speak some more with you and your brothers about the recent incidents nearby. The things we talked about when we ran into each other last night,” he continued. Timothy and Hina still stood just inside, and when Richard flicked his fingers toward the door, using mystic force to close it, they both jumped.
“Sorry,” Richard said. “Don’t care for too much sunlight,” he joked. He walked further into his home, and motioned for the three travelers to follow him into the kitchen. “Yes, we can talk shortly about that, Stocky. Vould any of you care for a nibble of somesing?” Hina and Timothy both politely declined the offer, but Stockholm sauntered right to the ice box and rummaged around, hauling out a jar of pickles and settling in at the kitchen table. Hina and Tim sat down as well, and Richard Tiverski brought them both a glass of water.
“Thank you,” Hina said, eyeballing the Vampire. He had what she thought of as an aristocratic air about him, and it stretched from his regal clothing to his mannerisms. Yet she sensed none of the threatening presence that she associated with Vampires from her textbooks. She sensed a bit of stuffiness, but little else.
“You’re qvite velcome,” Richard said with a half bow. “Now, these incidents I have told you about? There vas another last night, shortly after I returned home. My brothers vere involved as vell, but zey both prefer to sleep avay all of the daylight hours, and von’t be helping in the telling.”
“Do tell,” said Stockholm. Timothy thought back for a moment on what he’d heard from Armin about Richard Tiverski. Only a few of the things he’d been told seemed to be accurate. For starters, the man wasn’t asleep at high noon. Secondly, when he walked into the kitchen, Tim hadn’t heard any hollowness from his footsteps, so there wasn’t any underground chamber that the Vampire slept in. He likely occupied a normal bedroom, he thought.
The last detail that Armin had told Tim also already appeared to have been fabricated, because Armin’s father had told his son that like any other Vampire, the Tiverskis weren’t to be trusted. Yet Timothy took an instant liking to this Richard Tiverski, as did Hina, apparently. Neither Elf nor half-Elf held the apprehension anymore that they had at the doorway. Tim’s thoughts came back to the present as Richard spoke once more.
“I came back home vith the necessary supplies ve require for a while, vhich I picked up in Desanadron. After I put everything avay, Trevor informed me that he heard somesing strange outside, a sort of musical sound. Vhen Simon agreed zat he could hear it as vell, I too begun hearing the music. It vas strange and flute-like, but it vas also entrancing, you see. Before any of us thought better of it, ve vere outside. Vhat I saw out there could not be explained easily, my friend.”
“What was it,” Timothy asked.
“It vas this strange fox-man, sitting on one of the tree stumps near the property. He vas playing a flute, as I had thought, and there vere several other creatures seated around it. They seemed to have been hypnotized by the music, much more powerfully than were my brothers and I. The creatures gathered vere not all humanoid either. Some appeared to be qvite ferocious, and I vas glad to see them ensnared. However, vhen Trevor, Simon and I regained our senses, ve found ourselves standing in the circle vith the other assembled creatures, nodding our heads in time to the music.”
“What did you do when you came to,” asked Stockholm, handing the jar of pickles back to Richard, who returned it promptly to the fridge before continuing with his story.
“Vell, ve came to standing in front of the fox-man, and he did not look qvite the same as before. He vas grinning very widely, a smile that should by all rights have split his head open,” Richard said, tracing lines from the corners of his mouth all the way up past his own ears. “Ve reacted as ve thought necessary; ve attacked und killed the creature. A good thing, too. Several dozen creatures lay dead at its side, creatures that only minutes before had been calmly enjoying its performance.”
“Hmm, interesting,” offered Stockholm. He turned to Hina and Timothy to get their thoughts.
“Sounds like an Enchantment spell,” Hina said bluntly, offering what little insight she could to the conversation.
“Or perhaps some form of Illusion,” Timothy counter-pointed.
“Likely a combination of the two,” said Richard Tiverski, clearing his throat. “When ve slew the creature, the others around it seemed very confused, and a little enraged at us for stopping the show. So, ve killed a few more creatures and then fled back into our home. Thankfully, the survivors did not give chase after us. I’m not sure how ve vould have fared against them all, for they vere indeed strange beings.” Richard let the weight of what he was telling Ignatious and his companions sink in, and none seemed to like what they were hearing. If three full-blown Vampires had trouble containing the troublesome outsiders, what would it be like for the trio out of Desanadron?
“Can you give us some idea of how many of these creatures were left at the end of the fighting,” Timothy asked. Richard shrugged his shoulders, not willing to commit to any sort of rough estimate, just to be safe. “Damn. Well, it was a thought,” Timothy said, rubbing his hands together.
“Did the creatures appear to react worse to specific types of magic or attack,” Hina asked, squinting her eyes at Richard Tiverski but not really seeing him at all. She was trying to imagine what sort of creatures a Vampire would deem ‘strange’, considering their own nature.
“Now that you mention it, yes, they did,” Richard said, rubbing his vaguely pointed chin. “Simon used a small handful of spells from the school of Aeromancy to good effect,” Richard said. “Simon’s what might be called a general practitioner of magic, specializing in no single school. He dabbles here and there where he can. Do any of you have such spells available?”
“I can use my Element Shift to change the nature of my Raybolt spell,” Hina said with a sigh. “But that’s about it. Tim?” Now was young Vandross’s time to shine, and he beamed at his companions.
“I happen to know a few potent Aeromancy spells,” he said. “They should come in handy.” Stockholm grunted and nodded, and then rose from his seat. He extended one large-knuckled hand to Richard Tiverski, who accepted and shook firmly.
“Thank you for the information, Richard. I’ll stop by again some time, maybe at night, when I can catch up with Trevor and Simon as well,” Stockholm said, releasing his crushing grip on the Vampire’s hand. Richard grinned and inclined his head, letting the trio see themselves out into the woods northeast of Desanadron. Thin shafts of bright sunlight shone through the canopy of the treetops, and Stockholm stepped directly into one such beam. Timothy looked at him as he exited the cottage, and was struck by the way Stockholm looked like an embodiment of bloodshed standing in the light.
“West from here, right,” Timothy asked. Stockholm looked up to the sky, spotting clear blue beyond the shade of green branches overhead. He nodded in reply to Timothy’s question, but did not take his animus form.
“Leave the horses here,” he said after a moment, turning his attention from the skies to his allies. “The place isn’t that far west of here. It’s only just beyond the woods, and we can walk there in an hour or two. It’ll be a good opportunity to mentally prepare ourselves for the upcoming battle.”
“You sound like you’re certain there’s going to be one,” Hina said tentatively.
“I am, young Hina,” Stockholm said, suddenly feeling afraid for the safety of Timothy Vandross and Hina Hinas. They were his charges, in his care, and he had no desire to see them harmed. Yet it felt to him that they were walking right into the very clutches of Death himself on this leg of the journey, and all signs pointed to conflict. There was little he could do about that.
And so in the earliest stretches of the afternoon, the trio headed west, toward the first red ‘X’ mark on the map given to Stockholm by the god Lenos.
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