MAGE 18 By Heck Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ON THE FLOOR beside the recumbent body of the senseless woman, Brenhya carefully took stock of her battered condition. It seemed that every part of her superb body was bruised. Livid blue lesions decorated her arms and thighs, from smashing through the wooden staves. Her nose was painfully tender and felt as if it was swollen to twice its normal size, and one eye was rapidly closing as the puffy skin around it turned a deep plum colour. She sniffed at the last trickle of congealing blood escaped her nostril and oozed down her lip. And her back and shoulders ached where they had been slammed against the floor and walls by the thrashing of the tigress. From time to time, Oudreya moaned and stirred, and Brenhya was concerned that she would awaken, morph, and begin her attack anew. Gentle but firm pressure on the carotids eased her back into oblivion, but the warrior was worried that she would cause her friend permanent damage if she did this too often. Brenhya climbed stiffly to her feet and flexed a muscle or two. Sore, painful in fact, but bearable. She knew she was in no fit state to face another battle like that which she had just won, but also knew her own body intimately, and trusted in the remarkable recuperative powers her intense athleticism gave her. The best way to hasten recovery, she knew, was to work through the stiffness and pain, so with that in mind she began a series of stretching exercises. Gently at first, and with increasing vigour as the stiffness eased, she went through a routine of lunges, bends, and twists, until her joints and muscles felt less cramped and achieved a semblance of their former flexibility. The pain she would just have to live with, and used her mental discipline to shove it hard to the very back of her mind. She kept moving, pacing up and down and swinging her arms, lest her limbs seize up again, keeping a watchful eye on Oudreya at all times. It seemed an age since she had dispatched Lon to find some food for Oudreya. Where was the boy? Had he become lost or, worse, had he fallen into the clutches of Drosklyn Chaithe? She knew that he stood a better chance of finding food alone, seeing that he had some little knowledge of the weird layout of the magician's house. And there was no way she would have left her other friend, Oudreya, alone and subject to the ravening instincts of the hunger-maddened tigress within her. But, still, she was beginning to worry for the apprentice wizard. She knelt beside the prone woman, smiling wistfully down at her as she stroked the oddly striped flowing hair. She had been through a lot in her life, and had known grief and pain and hardship. But Oudreya had been an outcast from day one, shunned by her family, and would have been killed at birth if not for her mother; forced to hide away in the mountains, afraid of human contact, living on such game as she could catch, and torn by the painful transitions between her human and feline shapes. To live like that, bereft of companionship and fending entirely for herself was something that she, Brenhya, could not comprehend. And yet Oudreya, in either form, when not consumed by the hunting urge and the ravages of hunger, was a true and loyal friend, good company, and a pleasure to be with. Brenhya did not know if she herself could have come through a life like that with her personality so intact. A touch on the carotids again sent the arousing Oudreya back into peaceful sleep. Brenhya rose to her feet and resumed pacing not, this time, to keep supple, but out of worry for Lon. Where the hells was he? Think of the devil, it is said, and he shall appear. There was nothing devilish about Lon, but the same seemed to be true of him. No sooner had the thought formed in Brenhya's mind than she heard the slap of his bare running feet. As she looked up, she saw his shape trot past the end of the corridor she was in. "Lon!" The sound of sliding reached her ears, and she imagined him skidding to a halt on the polished floor. In a moment he reappeared, face flushed and a well-stuffed sack on his back. "I didn't know what to get", he puffed. "So I grabbed something of everything". Without ceremony, he dumped the contents of his sack on the floor. A veritable cornucopia of foodstuffs tumbled out. Cooked chickens, a whole ham, bread, fruit, and vegetables. Despite her bruised and painful face, Brenhya had to smile. "You sure you brought enough?" "I wanted to be sure so I just grabbed what was there. I didn't know what was best, in the circumstances. And, besides". His face showed real concern. "I didn't know if I'd come back to find you torn to bits and her", he pointed to the sleeping figure, "with blood on her whiskers and looking for a second course". Brenhya patted him on the shoulder as she hunkered down beside the food. She selected a couple of chickens, and laid them down by Oudreya's head. They would be the first thing she saw when she came to. Then Brenhya just squatted by her side, gently stroking her arm. "Erm. Brenhya?" Lon interrupted her reverie after a couple of minutes. "There's a certain amount of hurry-up involved, here. Chaithe will be well into the ritual by now, and we need to stop him before he gets too far. If he unleashes Shaitan." "How long do we have?" "Not long. The rite will be very involved and complicated, but he must be getting close by now". Brenhya came fluidly to her feet, all traces of stiffness gone or, at least, suppressed, gazing down as Oudreya began to stir once more. "I don't want to leave her until I know she's OK". "I'll stay. I'll be here for her. You go". "What if she ignores the food? What if the urge to hunt is stronger than the hunger?" "Then I'll run. But it's far more important that you stop Chaithe. The consequences. well, you know. Don't worry about me, about us. We'll be fine". "How do I find him". "Can you picture his laboratory in your mind?" He paused while Brenhya nodded. "Then the house will guide you. Just keep that picture in your head, and follow your instincts". "I'm no wizard. It might not work for me". "Neither is Quaff, and the layout changes so often that he can't possibly remember it all. It works for him. It'll work for you". His voice was full of a confidence he did not feel. There was nothing more to be said. Brenhya scooped up a piece of sweet fruit; the sugar would give her much needed energy; and gave him the best smile her battered features could manage. Lon watched as she turned and trotted out of sight. He swallowed the huge lump in his throat and staggered back against the wall, free now to let all his pent-up terror show now that Brenhya was not present. It would not have done, he had kept telling himself, to panic earlier and give her yet one more thing to worry about. But now she was gone, his limbs began to tremble and his knees turned to water as he let himself slide down the wall to sit on the floor. Closing his eyes, he allowed the fear to wash through him. A scraping sound and a quiet growl warned him that Oudreya was coming round. His eyelids snapped open and he fixed his gaze upon her, at the same time trying to make himself as small as possible. * Trotting through the maze of dimly lit corridors, Brenhya found that the weird nature of the house was working for her. At every bend and intersection, it seemed, her feet automatically knew which way to go. She held a mental image of the laboratory in her head, and it appeared that the house was indeed guiding her. So it did not take long to find her goal. A door, so black that it seemed the very opposite of white, so dense that it seemed to suck the very light into itself. All around its edges, rays of green radiated from the tiny hair thin gaps, scintillating and humming in the air. The warrior paused for a moment to steel herself, and let her strong fingers close around the wrought black handle. It was locked. Of course. Brenhya backed off a few paces, and took a run at the door. At the last moment her leg, propelled by powerful and magnificent muscles, pistoned out and smashed into the centre. The door was constructed of thick and heavy timbers, and mounted on large, robust hinges. But not as robust as Brenhya had expected. Under the onslaught of her one mighty kick, the hinges were ripped from the architrave and the door exploded into the laboratory beyond. The scene that greeted her was not what she had expected. Oh, she was fully prepared for the interior of the laboratory, and had expected some strange and ethereal changes. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. To one side, Drosklyn Chaithe stood with closed eyes and outstretched arms, his mouth moving in time to the drowned words of the arcane litany he chanted. At his side Quaff, striving to keep the protective sprig of mistletoe above his master's head, turned his face away and shielded himself with an arm. The strange diagram inlaid on the floor, with its weird artefacts still in place, was still there, but from its centre emanated an eerie emerald light, seeming to stream swirling upwards and at its very core a blood red glow encompassing an oddly incomplete man-shape. The vortex created a roaring noise, like a raging hurricane, as it shot toward the ceiling where it mushroomed and billowed back on itself. The wind it created blasted Brenhya's hair into a streaming banner behind her, and here and there within the light, she thought she cold make out anguished faces twisted in pain. And over it all a terrible, deafening howling like a million souls in torment. The mystical winds hit her like a physical force, and she needed to lean into it as if battling against the strongest gales. Her powerful thighs drove her slowly forward as she protected her face with a hand. Her hair whipped and lashed around her shoulders, stinging her skin like a thousand tiny ants. Her progress was slow but steady, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Chaithe, his form hazy through the glare, staring at her with intense anger. His lips never stopped moving, though, as he continued the incantation, and it seemed to Brenhya that he stepped up his rate of speech. She could not hear him over the scream of the vortex, but suspected he was getting close to the climax of the rite. Inside the vortex the shape was solidifying. Over eight feet high, it presented as a blue skinned male with cloven hooves for feet and black- taloned fingers. Its face was indistinguishable as yet, but a pair of black, wickedly curved horns were appearing, sprouting from a thick boss atop its elongated, slightly bovine head. She had to get to the wizard. She could pay little attention to the shape in the light just now. Chaithe was her target. She was leaning at an acute angle, now, and used her fingertips for extra traction as she inched toward him. Quaff was not doing well, she noticed. The vast concentration of magic was taking its toll upon him, and his knees were sagging as he strove to keep the branch above his master's head. Smoke curled from the collar of his coarse shirt and he was in obvious pain. Even the mistletoe was showing the effects, its tough, waxy leaves curling and white berries crinkling as moisture was sucked from them. Chaithe batted impatiently at the sprig as it touched his face, and the kobold struggled manfully to keep it over him. The sorcerer seemed physically unaffected by the maelstrom of thaumaturgical energy, but Brenhya could see the deep flare of madness in his wild eyes. Brenhya felt as if a team of horses were holding her back. The intense magicks pushed and pulled at her, not deliberately impeding her but forming an obstacle of force so powerful that she began top wonder if she could ever overcome it. It was only her tremendous strength and grim determination that kept her going. At one point, she felt as if her very organs were thrown loose and were flopping around inside her. She summoned every ounce of reserves from her deep well of physical and mental strength, put her head down, and drove forward with indomitable will. She came within three feet of him, and stretched out a hand to clutch his robe. Silence. Sudden, brutal silence. The magical force let go of her, and she was unable to prevent her collapse to the floor. She sprawled, gasping for breath. Quaff, also suddenly released, staggered back. The mistletoe fell from his nerveless fingers, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he crumpled slowly to his master's feet. He would never move again. Brenhya rolled onto her back, her eyes quickly relocating Chaithe. The wizard stood very still, a look of deep satisfaction on his aquiline features. Smug satisfaction. Brenhya followed his gaze. The vortex had stopped whirling, and was transformed to a column of clear green light. The red core had coalesced into a disc, and the blue figure stood upon it. Fully materialised, now, it held a kind of perverted magnificence. Apart from the cloven hooves, the body was that of a beautifully sculpted adult male, with some differences. The torso was totally smooth without a trace of hair, and there were no genitals. The face, under the great curving crescent of the vicious horns, was finely featured and handsome to a degree of perfection, but there was something about the set of the closed eyes and the arc of the sensous lips that spoke of great evil and monstrous cruelty. Although it was standing on the red disc, there was something in the flaccid posture and hanging head that told Brenhya that the daemon was not conscious. I was as if it had fallen asleep on its feet. "Shaitan!", Chaithe breathed. "At last!" He took a step toward the result of his summons. Brenhya's leg flashed out in a slicing arc, scything his legs from under him. Chaithe went down like a sack of sand, and she was on top of him in an instant. Her steely fingers closed on the material of his robe, her powerful arm pinning him in place. She drew back her other arm, knotting her hand into a knuckly fist. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to send him into oblivion. Chaithe seemed to fully notice her for the first time. Recognition, fear, and anger flashed across his eyes in rapid succession. Her fist had already begun to move when Chaithe made a small, almost contemptuous gesture. Like a marionette on strings, Brenhya was hurled way from him. She crossed the room in a flailing arc, crashing down on a bench to scatter glass shards of jars, flasks, and thuribles across the floor. Several splinters pierced and embedded themselves in her skin, and her head cracked against the wall and she was momentarily dazed. Chaithe came to his feet as if lever operated. There was a lot of the predator about him as he stalked toward her. "You!" A little fleck of spittle appeared at the corner of his mouth. "You tried to thwart me, but you're too late! Look!" His outflung finger speared toward the column of green. "He's here! Lord Shaitan! He is the source of my power now!" His voice took on a hard edge as he neared her. "You cannot imagine how powerful I have become!" He raised a hand and made a gesture. Brenhya threw herself off the bench as a blast of black flame smashed into it. The shards of glass melted and vaporised in the heat. Brenhya let out a gasp of pain as her impact with the floor drove several glass splinters deeper into her flesh. Her trademark shoulder spring brought her to her feet and she cartwheeled across the floor, placing the light between the wizard and herself. Legs apart and balancing lightly on the balls of her feet, she held herself ready for the next attack. Chaithe raised both hands. Three needle-sharp daggers appeared in the air above each. He flicked his fingers and the blades shot away, curving around the column on either side, targeted on Brenhya's breast. The great, arching muscles of her thighs exploded with power and propelled her upwards like a rocket. Her bunched fists punched right through the ceiling either side of a rafter, and her grappling hook fingers grasped the beam. Her biceps rolled as they heaved her up, raising her legs to let the knives pass harmlessly underneath. Such was the power of Chaithe's magic that the daggers, instead of losing impetus and falling to the ground, actually began to orbit the emerald pillar. Stupendous belly muscles contracted, and Brenhya hauled herself up to hang, sloth-like, from the rafter. A keen-eyed observer, had there been one, would have noticed that nothing supported her feet except her own outstanding strength. Confident in his abilities, Chaithe rounded the column expecting to find Brenhya's body lying in a bloody pool. His grin turned to angry puzzlement when he found her missing. Brenhya waited until he was directly below, and let go. Twisting in the air like a cat, she landed full on his back, bearing his body to the ground. Her arms looped under his and her fingers laced at the back of his neck. His instinct was to struggle wildly, but physically he was no match for the warrior woman. Brenhya held him as easily as she would a child. She hauled him to his feet and turned him, still helpless in her grasp, to face the column. In shock for a moment, his entire weight hung from her arms as he flopped like a ragdoll. "I won't kill you yet". Her voice was flat and emotionless. "Not until you get rid of that. Do it now". In a panic, Chaithe's hands flailed desperately, but the awkward position in which he was held prevented him from completing any magical gestures against her. "Lord Shaitan!" he yelled plaintively. "Help me!" A movement within the pillar of verdant light claimed Brenhya's attention. The great horned head lifted and slowly turned towards her and her captive. Its eyelids slid back to display no eyes that were recognisable as such to the human psyche, but were deep black orbs that filled each socket with a deep, fathomless void. The cruel lips curled in a half smile, and in the far, far depths of those bottomless eyes, something red flared like a distant supernova. A shock of electricity slammed through her, all of her muscles suddenly rigid spasm, and her arms and legs were flung wide, releasing Chaithe and transforming her into a living 'X'. She was picked up, as if by an invisible hand, and flung back against the wall. Her spasming muscles, as hard as teak, were not under her own control, and she was pinned helpless like collected moth. Every attempt to move resulted in waves of searing agony. Drosklyn Chaithe clambered somewhat unsteadily to his feet, chuckling insanely to himself. "Nearly!" He wagged a mocking finger at her. "But you have learned a valuable lesson. What a pity it'll be your last". He made a grasping gesture. A long shard of lethally pointed glass floated up from the ruins of the bench, and rotated in the air until it pointed directly at Brenhya's heart. "Any last words?" Chaithe asked her. "On second thoughts, let's not bother". He held up a hand, ready to make the signal that would end her life.