MAGE 17
By Heck



Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

She wasn't surprised to find it was a booby trap. What did surprise her was
the fact that she did not recognise it as such to begin with.

The latch moved under the pressure of her thumb.

Her head turned at the sound of an ominous 'clonk'.

"Get down!"

Even as she yelled, she launched herself at Lon, knocking him flat with the
weight of her body, landing atop him, driving all the wind out of him.

From the walls at either side of the door, faster than the eye could follow
and missing the two by the thickness of a hair, a score of sharpened and fire
hardened staves stabbed viciously out, ghoulishly decorated with bits of
rotten flesh and stiff tendons. On one, a human skull had been impaled through
the occiput, the point protruding from an empty eye socket like an accusing
stare.

A look of astonishment passed between Brenhya and Lon. A look that said many
things: why are we still alive; how come we aren't shishkebabbed; how did you
move so fast; and will you please get off my chest, I'd like to breathe now.

Brenhya rolled off Lon's wheezing body and sat up. She was just in time to see
the staves disappearing back into their niches which, on cursory examination,
appeared to be merely dark patches on the wall.

"More illusions?"

"I don't think so". Lon had recovered enough breath to speak. He got slowly to
his feet, keeping well clear of the danger zone. "It's a mechanical device,
triggered by the thumb latch. Quite simple, really".

"You keep saying that". Her words had a certain long-suffering timbre. "So how
does Chaithe get in and out without being skewered?"

Lon knitted his brows in thought, studying the door itself from what he
thought was a safe distance.

"There has to be a by-pass mechanism". He extended a pointing finger. "Those
little squares, I would say. You probably have to push them in a certain
sequence. Or some of them. Or slide them to make a pattern. Or flip them. Or
press certain ones together. Or ... I don't know! It could be anything". He
passed a weary hand over his grimy face, dragging his hair back, and clasped
both hands behind his head. "The chances of us hitting the right combination
first time are ... well, I couldn't calculate".

"And there wouldn't be a second try". Brenhya rose from a cross-legged seated
position to fully erect in one easy motion, without using her hands. "There
has to be an answer". She cupped her chin in one hand, supporting her elbow in
the other, in what Lon thought of as her 'thinking pose'.

"If we could trigger the mechanism without getting perforated, and then wedge
them in position ... " , Lon mused.

"You might have something there".

"Yeah", Lon sighed. "Always supposing we could find a way to trigger them. And
then find a way to wedge them. Why are you looking at me like that?"

The warrior was regarding him with a calculating, speculative gaze. A gaze
that told him that a] she had had an idea, and b] he wasn't going to like it.

"Take your pants off".

"What? I don't think ."

"Come on, Lon. Don't be silly. It's not as if I've never seen it before".

"That's not the point!" He backed away. "What possible ..."

Brenhya sighed. She placed her hands on her hips in a familiar posture,
lifting the corner of her mouth in a quirky half smile.

"We need something to trigger the trap. All we have are your pants and boots".
Her finger snapped at the waist ties of her own skimpy briefs. "Except these.
And I don't think they're quite up to it, do you?"

"Why can't you use my boots?"

"I need them for something else. You can take them off, too". She held out her
hand expectantly. "Come on. Pants".

"Well, all right. But turn your back!"

Brenhya folded her arms under her magnificent breasts and pointedly turned her
back. She spun to face him when, after a few seconds, he told her he was
ready, and her lips parted in a wide, dazzling grin.

Naked, Lon was standing half crouched, one hand covering his groin and the
other at full stretch, handing the tattered pants to her. His face was turned
away as if he thought, ostrich-like, if he couldn't see her she couldn't see
him.

"Thanks. And the boots, please".

Lon gave a resigned sigh, and pulled his battered boots from his aching feet.

Brenhya took the pants in both hands, and ripped the remnants of the legs from
them. What was left she gave back to Lon. It was little more than a waistband
and two short tubes of cloth, but he was relieved that she had at least left
him something to cover his modesty.

She tore the tough material into long strips, nimble fingers knotting them
together to form a single length. Then she fastened one of the boots to the
end. Understanding dawned on Lon's face.

"I see what you're at", he smiled, his embarrassment forgotten. "This way, if
it doesn't work first time, you get another shot".

"And another", she agreed. "And another. And another, 'til we get it right".

She swung the boot in a wide arc, taking careful aim. She let go, and it
thumped into the door, three inches left of the latch.

They both instinctively dropped to the floor, despite the fact that they were
fairly sure they were out of range of the staves.

Nothing happened, confirming that the latch was the trigger. Brenhya reeled in
the boot and tried again. This time the boot hit just above the latch.

"Throw it", Lon said.

"What?"

"You can throw just about anything and hit your mark". Lon was referring to
Brenhya's almost superhuman ability to throw just about any missile with
unerring accuracy. "Give me the end of the line, and throw the boot, rather
than swinging it. I'd be surprised if you didn't hit it first go".

He was right. She threw the boot, and it landed squarely on the latch,
depressing it. She was rewarded by the hollow clonk, and the staves shot out
of the walls.

Moving like lightning, Brenhya scythed the callused edge of her rigid hand
down on the nearest stave. Driven by the enormous strength of her arm, it
smashed through the hard wood, sending the severed point spinning to the
floor.

Uninterrupted by her savage assault, the staves withdrew into the wall. Lon
still had hold of the line, and Brenhya dragged the boot back.

She threw the boot again. Once more, with her uncanny aim, the boot hit the
target soundly. The broken end was in her hand, and this time she jammed it
into one of the niches, solidly wedging the staves in their extended position.

"Yes!" Lon punched the air. Then his face fell as he contemplated the
horizontal forest of wooden rails that now lay between them and the door. "I
think".

"It's all right. Stand back".

Brenhya's closed her eyes in concentration for a second, pressing her palms
together before her, centring herself. Her majestic breasts rose as she sucked
in a huge lungful of air through her nose, and when she opened her eyes she
wore an expression of quiet serenity.

Lon jumped back, momentarily startled as Brenhya let go a yell and exploded
into action. Her body became a blur, a whirling windmill of flashing arms and
legs, moving with unstoppable power as she attacked the staves. Using mostly
her forearms and thighs, propelled by the unconquerable strength of her
muscles, she struck and smashed the staves, venting much of her pent-up rage
on the hardened wood.

Splinters flew in all directions, and lengths of wood ricocheted from the
walls and spun to the packed earth floor all around. Lon danced and dodged as
pieces of timber whirred past him.

Like some dervish of destruction, the warrior woman had smashed her way
through the barrier in a matter of seconds, and stood before the door
massaging her sore arms, which were already beginning to show the signs of
what would become some spectacular bruises. She looked back at Lon.

"Well? Come on, then".

Lon approached her with mouth hanging open. It seemed that, no matter how many
times he witnessed this woman demonstrate her terrific physicality, she never
failed to come up with something new, something he had not seen before. In the
last couple of hours, she had sprinted across an illusory narrow bridge with
him over her shoulders, carried him up a vertical shaft, and smashed her way
through a barrier of implacable wood.

He knew what she could do. He had first hand evidence, on countless occasions,
of her tremendous strength. Yet, every time, he was left breathless and agog
by the spectacle.

"Close your mouth", Brenhya smiled. She affected to be blasé about his
admiration, but was secretly quite flattered. "You'll catch flies".

She laid hold of the latch and pressed the lever, half expecting yet another
booby trap. Nothing happened, and she pulled the door open. Lon, emboldened by
the fact that they had not died yet, tried to step through. Brenhya dropped a
restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Wait. Give me your other boot".

She placed the boot on the threshold, and pushed it carefully through.

A shining, razor sharp blade slammed down from the lintel, slicing through the
leather toe of the boot, leaving it shortened by about three inches.

Lon gulped. Gingerly, he picked up the remains of his footwear.

"I know you're not psychic", he insisted. "How did you know?"

Brenhya shrugged.

"Call it a hunch".

"Thank gods for your hunches, then. That could've been me!" He examined the
ruined boot with a rueful eye. "Ah, well", he sighed. "I always wanted a pair
of open toed sandals".

"They'll let your feet breathe", Brenhya smiled. "I can do the other one, if
you'd like?"

"No, that's OK". He tossed the boot over his shoulder. A little cloud of dust
rose where it thudded to the floor. "Although, if I get through this with a
stitch of clothing to my name, it'll be a miracle".

Brenhya leaned round the door jamb, scanning both ways down the transverse
corridor. It was stone clad with tiled flooring, and lit by guttering candles
mounted on iron sconces.

"It's clear. Come on".

She stepped through, keeping close to the walls, with Lon shadowing her so
closely as to be all but riding her shoulder.

"I recognise this". He kept his voice to a coarse whisper. "We're back in the
house".

"Which way, then?" Brenhya needed to know.

"Erm ... not sure. I don't know exactly where in the house we are. But I recognise
the style of the corridor. It's typical of the upper floors, where Chaithe has
his laboratory".

"Will he know we're here?"

"Not necessarily. He probably doesn't expect us to have got this far. Also,
he's likely to be in the thick of his preparations by now, and with a bit of
luck he'll be concentrating too hard for his perceptions to pick us up".

"You must have learned something from him" Brenhya sounded almost impressed.
"You actually sound like you know what you're talking about".

"I do". There was a slightly hurt inflection in his voice. "This is
theoretical stuff we're talking here. I always knew my theory, don't forget.
It's the practical stuff I have difficulty with".

"I don't know so much about that". They were making stealthy progress along
the corridor as they talked, Brenhya's instincts bristling, scanning every
nook, cranny, and shadow for further danger. "That message in the jar thing
was pretty good".

"Huh! Not so good that I was able to keep himself ..."

Brenhya's raised hand cut him off in mid-sentence. They were approaching an
elbow in the corridor, and Lon could sense an increase in Brenhya's
hyper-awareness. She stopped at the corner and snatched a brief glimpse around
it. His own heightened awareness allowed him to hear the tiniest sigh of
relief escape her lips as she straightened.

"It's OK. Oudreya is round the corner".

"What? You're telling me there's a tiger down there, and it's OK?"

"You were all right with her when you were in the cage, weren't you?" Brenhya
stepped confidently around the corner. "She didn't hurt you then, and she
won't ... uh-oh".

"Uh-oh?" Lon stepped out behind her. "What do you mean, uh-oh? Uh-oh is never
good".

"Look at her". Brenhya was as motionless as a rock. "She hasn't fed. The
hunting urge is on her"

Several yards away, crouching low to the tiles, black tail-tip twitching
angrily and fringed lips drawn back from gleaming fangs, the were-tigress
gathered her haunches under her. She rumbled a low, anticipatory growl.

"Keep still", Brenhya whispered from the corner of her mouth. "Keep absolutely
still".

"Mm-hm". Lon's head nodded imperceptibly. "No problem".

"Oudreya". Brenhya spoke in a gentle, calming voice. "It's me. It's Brenhya".
She squatted on her haunches, bringing her eyes level with those of the cat.
"You know I won't hurt you. And I know you don't want to hurt us".

"I hope". Lon muttered under his breath.

"Easy, easy". Brenhya inched toward the tigress, arms spread wide in as
unthreatening a posture as she could manage. "I know you're hungry, and we'll
make sure you get something to eat. But not us. Lon, this isn't working". She
kept her eyes glued on the cat while she spoke to her companion. "Very
carefully and very slowly, I want you to get back round the corner. Once
you're out of sight, run back to the door and close it behind you".

"But Brenhya, I."

"Go!"

Used to trusting her judgement, Lon did as he was told. He slowly backed away,
while Brenhya kept the animal's attention focussed on her, and stepped round
the corner. But he could not abandon her altogether, and remained out of sight
while allowing one eye to peer round the wall.

Brenhya knew that the were-tigress, albeit her friend when in human form, was
subject to basic animal instincts and, when the urge to hunt was strong, all
of her human intelligence and feelings were subdued by the primitive cravings
that boiled inside her. She knew, also, that her life was never at greater
risk than it was right now.

She poised herself to meet the inevitable attack, positioning herself on the
balls of her feet and balancing with her fingertips on the ground. She still
bore a faint hope that she would be able to reach Oudreya, the human part of
Oudreya, and continued to try to reason with her.

But deep within, she knew it was useless.

The powerful muscles of the tigress' haunches bunched beneath her as she
shifted position, tail now lashing as she snarled her defiance at the warrior
woman. And like a flying nightmare, all teeth and claws, she launched herself
at the woman.

*

A maelstrom of swirling smoke, as multicoloured as a kingfisher's wing, rose
up in a vortex from the inlaid occult symbols on the floor. Occasional
glimpses of the distorted faces of souls in torment, appeared in the twisting
spirals, and a low sound like the distant howling and screaming of tortured
spirits, could be heard beneath the windrush noise of the spinning unnatural
tornado itself.

Outside the symbols, arms raised in supplication, body encased in a heavy,
flowing black cloak, Drosklyn Chaithe stood with eyes closed, lips moving as
if in prayer. Mystic runes were chalked on a large slate behind him, and he
occasionally glanced at them, refreshing his memory as he chanted. Nearby, the
manservant Quaff stood with a handful of mistletoe held above his master's
head. He had been abjured not to allow the parasitic plant to waver, it being
the only protection Chaithe had allowed himself.

Quaff was unprotected.

Chaithe did not care.

A wizard of Chaithe's skill and ability was able to exert a high degree of
control over his experiments, funnelling and concentrating the magic to his
own diabolical ends. However, the production of such vast quantities of
magicks as were necessary here inevitably resulted in some overspill, and
random thaums of enchantment sparked and spurted around the room, causing some
interesting effects.

On one corner of the bench a small crucible turned into a squat, beige toad,
which blinked bemusedly and crawled away.

An open book, lying quietly on a side table, flapped its pages and flew up to
a window, batting mindlessly against the panes.

And occasional bursts of raw magic caromed off the walls. Where they came into
contact with the dome of protection formed by the mistletoe, they sputtered
and fizzled out harmlessly. Quaff, on the other hand, found it necessary to
duck and dodge from time to time, trying to keep the mistle branch in position
all the while.

Chaithe's voice rose to an urgent, commanding crescendo as he reach the climax
of his conjuration. Arms flung wide and face turned up, his eyes blazed with
fanaticism, while his whole body shook to the ebb and flow of the enchantment
coursing through him.

Deep inside the whirling vortex, a shape began to coalesce. Vaguely humanoid,
it turned in the shifting currents. It looked as if it were very small and
close.

Or very big, and far away.

*

She threw herself forward, measuring her length on the dusty floor as the huge
cat sailed overhead, and rolled over, coming to her feet in a flickering
shoulder spring that was quite incredible for a woman of her height.

Crouching in a ready stance, Brenhya waited for the were-tigress to launch a
follow-up attack. She had decided that she would avoid harm to the animal if
it could be at all avoided, but that merely made the task of keeping herself
uninjured all the more difficult. Her eyes were fixed on the striped form,
watching for the slightest indication of the next move.

Oudreya's tail lashed against her sides. Ears flattened against her head, she
snarled and spat at the woman who, once her friend and saviour, she now saw
only as prey. With a sudden surge, she sprinted across the floor, charging at
her quarry whom, she knew, had no escape route.

Brenhya half expected the tigress to execute another leap, and tensed ready to
throw herself flat again. But at the last second, she realised from the
attitude of the onrushing body that that was not going to happen. The beast
was coming in low, ready to sweep her legs out from under her.

Like a pair of coiled springs, Brenhya's powerful legs propelled her straight
up into the air, carrying her high above the charging tiger. She twisted in
the air as the cat passed beneath her with a frustrated roar and, on landing,
grabbed the beast by the tail.

The automatic response of the cat was to pull away, yowling in anger. This was
what Brenhya had hoped for, and she hauled back on the tail with desperate
strength, dragging the animal backward across the ground. Oudreya dug her
claws into the wooden floorboards, tearing up great splinters as she tried to
pull from the implacable grasp, but Brenhya was too strong. The warrior's
muscles coiled and flexed under skin that was slick with sweat, her prodigious
power prevailing over the efforts of an animal that was twice her size and
three times her weight.

Her plan was to drag the tigress off balance, pull her around to make her
dizzy, and to take advantage of the moment to get an arm round the furry
throat. She recalled the result of that move at their first meeting, when loss
of consciousness had caused the were-tigress to revert to her human form, and
hoped for a repeat performance.

She had failed to take into account the human cunning that dwelt inside the
feline form.

While the two females were pulling in opposite directions, each straining to
the utmost against the other, and Brenhya seemed to be prevailing, Oudreya
sheathed all her claws at once, instantly losing traction on the floor.

Brenhya staggered back, losing her footing as the tension was lost. Whirling
in place, the tigress was upon her before she hit the floor, six inch fangs
reaching to tear out her throat. Brenhya slammed her forearm under the cat's
chin, bracing it against the tawny neck, holding back the slavering jaws. Her
other hand flashed round to grab the loose skin of the scruff, desperate to
keep death at bay.

Eight razor sharp scimitar claws hooked into the skin of Brenhya's shoulders,
carving deep red lines in the golden flesh. A wave of exquisite pain flooded
through the warrior, causing her to suck in breath through her teeth. She
heaved on the tiger's neck, pushing in the opposite direction with her
forearm, twisting the head, with its hot, foetid breath, away from her face.

Brenhya sensed a movement as the tigress lifted her hind legs, preparatory to
laying open the woman's belly with her rear claws. Brenhya instinctively
raised her own legs, pushing up with her feet to raise the six-hundred pound
body clear of her. Her soles slid down to fit neatly into the animal's groins,
stretching out the long striped shape and rendering the flailing hind legs
useless.

The sound of the tiger's roar, so close to her ears, was all but deafening.
Brenhya knew a moment of relief and hope as the claws detached from her
shoulders. Flexing her knees slightly, the power exploded through her thighs
to fling the cat clear of her body, rolling over and jumping to her feet
before the feline had stopped rolling.

The power of Brenhya's thrust took the tigress by surprise, and she sailed
over her assailant's head, completing a full somersault to slam her chin
against the floor. Dazed by the impact, she rolled over and over and came to
her feet shaking her head.

The roll had carried her past the end of the abutting corridor. Past where
Lon, mouth agape at the spectacle of the battle between big cat and warrior
woman, crouched out of sight.

At least, he was out of sight. Until the tigress came to her feet, when he was
directly in her line of vision.

"Oh, shit". He cringed back, trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous
as possible.

Too late.

When the hunting urge was upon her, one prey was as good as another to
Oudreya. And here was a prey that would be less trouble than the impossibly
strong woman she had attempted to overcome.

In ominous silence, Oudreya charged at Lon, who curled himself into a
terrified ball against the wall.

Under the impression that Lon would have done as he was told and found safety
behind the door, Brenhya was momentarily confused by the big cat's change of
direction. Her quick mind rapidly caught on, though, and she launched herself
to intercept.

"No, you don't!"

Three strides brought her into the cat's path. Propelled by its fabulous
muscles, her long leg flashed out with the speed of a striking cobra. Her foot
smashed into the tigress' face, connecting squarely with the moist, leathery
nose. The power of the impact stopped the animal in her tracks and rocked her
back on her haunches, screwing her eyes tight shut against the excruciating
pain..

Swift as thought, Brenhya leapt astride the animal's back. She wrapped a long,
muscular arm about the thick neck, using her other hand to lever the straps
and cables of her muscular forearm deep into the carotid artery. Her steely
bicep rose into a tight ball, pressing into the artery on the other side,
shutting off the blood supply to the tiger's brain.

A vague memory of being defeated in just this way stirred inside the were-
tigress' brain. She reared on her hind legs, lifting the woman with her and
pawing the air like a stallion. She flung back her head, smashing it into
Brenhya's face, bloodying her nose and making her see stars.

But Brenhya was attached like a limpet, and closed her legs tight around the
struggling body. The cat threw herself on her back, rolling on the floor in an
attempt to dislodge her now painful burden. She twisted and bucked, trying to
reach behind her, slashing at the constricting legs with a hind claw, leaving
deep red grooves in Brenhya's skin, and slammed against the walls to smash the
woman on the stone.

The trouble was, Brenhya was just too strong and too determined to be shifted.
She clung on in a deathgrip, even when her body was caught between the floor
and a quarter of a ton of thrashing, spitting fury.

Realising he hadn't died yet, Lon uncurled himself and climbed to his feet,
keeping close to the wall but immediately fascinated by the titanic struggle
going on.

After what seemed an age, the cat began to slow down, oxygen starvation
beginning to take its affect. With Brenhya still clinging to her back, she
slowly sank to the floor, dragging herself painfully forward on her belly. And
when it seemed that the enormous grip on her neck could not get any tighter,
Brenhya's muscles swelled even more, became even harder, completing the blood
supply shut-off.

Gradually, breath rasping over a swollen, protruding tongue, the splendid body
in Brenhya's arms began to go limp. Finally, Oudreya passed into
unconsciousness and Brenhya, bruised, battered, and bleeding, relaxed her
tremendous grip and rolled off her. Panting stertorously, magnificent naked
breasts heaving, she lay prostrate with arms and legs outflung.

Unpleasant bony and crackly sounds filled the silence while Oudreya morphed
back into her human form.

Cautiously, Lon approached the two still bodies.

"Brenhya?"

The warrior opened one rapidly blackening eye.

"Lon. Go get some food. Anything. We've got to get her fed, and quick".

"But you're injured. You're all bleeding. Shouldn't I."

"No. Because I can't fight her again. Not without killing her, and if we don't
feed her and stop the hunting urge, a bit of blood loss won't matter. Not one
little bit". She sat up and rested tired arms on her raised knees. Her fingers
tenderly explored her bruised nose. "Ouch! Now, go."

To his credit, Lon went. He recalled the nature of the distorted space inside
Chaithe's house, and that he only had to think of where he needed to be to
find his way there. Idly stroking the soft tawny hair of the unconscious
woman, Brenhya watched him go.

What the hells had she got herself into this time?