The Ventifact Colossus (The Heroes of Spira Book 1) (39 page)

Tor, it seemed, was not interested in math. He charged the closest Sharshun, drawing his sword as he did so, and this uncorked the chaos of battle. Both crossbows twanged, and while one bolt soared high, only grazing Tor’s shoulder, the other sprouted from his thigh. It barely slowed the boy. Ernie and Morningstar leapt forward a second later, leaving Kibi to agonize over whether he should grab his pick and join the melee.

With Grey Wolf missing, Tor had insisted on continuing their nightly sparring sessions, but Kibi had usually stayed out of them. Despite his strength, he was ponderous, incapable of the quick footwork and side-to-side agility that hand-to-hand combat demanded. And so, while he went as far as to pull the mining pick from his belt and even took two hesitant steps toward Sagiro and the Sharshun, he moved no further. He’d be throwing his life away.

Much of his pessimism came from the obvious skill of the Sharshun in battle. The one who had shot Tor dropped his crossbow and unsheathed his blade in one unnaturally fluid motion, in time to deflect Tor’s overhand swing. Now those two faced off against one another more warily, but the Sharshun’s body language projected a contemptuous confidence. Blood flowed freely from Tor’s leg.

While the second crossbowman hastily reloaded, the remaining two Sharshun engaged Ernie and Morningstar, and even to Kibi’s untrained eye his friends were badly outmatched. Ernie stumbled hastily backward, giving up all pretense of attack and trying only to ward off the Sharshun’s rapid strikes. Morningstar was knocked to her knees and rolled quickly out of the way to avoid her opponent’s follow-up slash.

At his side Aravia flicked out her hand and spoke quick syllables. The Sharshun reloading his bow flew backward as if punched hard in the stomach; the crossbow twanged and sent its bolt soaring out over the walls. But Aravia herself fell backward from the effort; had her failed
teleport
still drained most of her casting energy? That was hardly fair.

“Kibi, they need you!” Dranko’s voice barked from behind him.

Kibi again thrust his hand into his pocket and gripped the Eye of Moirel.

Damn you, you Hells-spawned rock, I
know
you can blast our enemies. I seen your brother do it.

IT IS NOT WHAT WE WERE MADE FOR.

An answer! That was progress.

I don’t care what you were made for! Your green brother told us we had to collect you to keep the world from being unmade. Also we’re gonna be dead in another minute, so come on!

Kibi took the Eye from his pocket and held it before him like a talisman.
Blast
’
em!

Sagiro, still standing in the back, looked wide-eyed at Kibi and barked an order. The Sharshun fighting Ernie spun and kicked the baker in the neck. Ernie dropped Pyknite as he fell onto his side, but instead of finishing him off the Sharshun strode rapidly toward Kibi. Her dark eyes flashed with cruelty and the pleasure of battle.

Knock the buggers out! Please!

I WILL BECOME DAMAGED. YOU MUST FIND ANOTHER WAY.

There is no other way! I’m about five seconds from being gutted like a fish!

It was closer to two seconds, but Kibi was saved from a filleting by Dranko, who leapt from the side and tackled the Sharshun. The two went down and rolled over several times, but the Sharshun ended up on top. Dranko’s hands gripped her sword-arm, but the blue-skinned woman brought down her blade, inch by relentless inch, toward the channeler’s neck.

“You know,” Dranko gasped. “I like a…woman who knows what she…wants, but not if what she wants is to…cut my throat.”

I don’t care if you become damaged! Better that than Sagiro get his hands on you.

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

Kibi couldn’t deny that! While he stood frozen, arguing with a talking rock, the battle was rapidly coming to an end. Ernie and Morningstar were each bleeding from numerous shallow cuts and had not inflicted any telling blows of their own. Both were fighting desperate retreating actions. Dranko had only seconds before the Sharshun’s weapon would cut into his neck. Sagiro himself had drawn his rapier and was advancing straight towards Kibi.

Tor charged in from the flank, limping but with fury, and bowled over the Sharshun atop Dranko. The boy had incapacitated the Sharshun who had shot him, but not without terrible cost. Blood gushed from his off-hand and also down the side of his face from a cut to his scalp. The Sharshun popped to her feet while Tor struggled to rise. Her curved sword came sweeping down, and Tor barely deflected it.

Eye of Moirel, I
command
you to blast those damn bald bastards. Sagiro too.

THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.

Dranko had gotten to his feet, and Kibi bellowed at him. “Dranko, get into the keep,
now.”

“But Tor needs…”

“
Now!
Dranko, find cover
right now
or we’re
all
as good as dead!”

Dranko dashed off toward the keep. Kibi couldn’t follow his progress because Sagiro was nearly upon him.

“If you hand over the Eye, I will tell my friends to stand down.” Sagiro sounded so conciliatory, even over the battlefield sounds of steel on steel. Unlike the indigo faces of the Sharshun, lit with battle-lust and malice, Sagiro looked regretful, almost apologetic. But he also wasn’t stopping his advance. He pulled back his rapier and turned his wrist, clearly intending to skewer Kibi through the heart.

Now! Damn the consequences!

The tip of the rapier was nudging the fabric of Kibi’s shirt when the blast went off. A purple sphere of force expanded outward from the Eye of Moirel, lifting everyone but Kibi off their feet. The shockwave was many times stronger than the one Sagiro’s Eye had effected in the cave; it sent the combatants sailing upward and backward like windblown leaves. Two of the Sharshun, along with Ernie and Tor, were slammed bodily into the rough walls of the keep, where they fell into senseless heaps. Morningstar and the remaining Sharshun were merely flung a dozen feet across the courtyard, landing with rolling thuds. None of them stood up.

Behind him Aravia had been spared the worst of it by dint of already lying prone on the ground. The concussive force of the Eye rolled her backward nearly to the keep entrance.

Sagiro gave Kibi a final look of something like betrayal as he was picked up and thrown directly backwards, through the gap of the gatehouse and over the lip of the ravine. Kibi imagined the rest: his body spinning gracefully, possibly ricocheting off the far side of the chasm, and plunging into the churn of rapids and rocks at the bottom.

“Good riddance, you mustached bastard!”

Dranko poked his head out of the keep. “Hells’ breakfast! Kibi, what happened? Are they all dead?”

Kibi looked at his friends, every bit as unconscious as the Sharshun, and prayed they were not. “Should just be knocked out and bruised. But Tor’s badly cut up, and the others might be too. If you feel up to channelin’, figure out who’s worst off. Otherwise just patch ‘em up best as you can.”

Dranko nodded. “Right. But where’s Sagiro? Did he get away?”

“Nope. The Eye knocked ’im into the river.”

“Serves him right,” said Dranko, before hurrying from body to body, inspecting their injuries. “Kibi, while I tend to our friends, I think our Sharshun buddies here should go play follow the leader.”

It took Kibi a moment to figure that out. “You mean dump ’em over the edge?”

“No, I mean dance a jig and kiss ’em on the lips. Yes, of course dump them over! Those Sharshun are tougher than we are and will probably wake up sooner from your magic blast. It would be safer to drive your pick through their skulls; just choose whatever you can live with. Oh, and if you choose the toss-plummet option, loot the bodies first.”

“But that might wake ’em up!” Kibi could hardly think of a less appealing activity than searching unconscious Sharshun for valuables.

“Then do it gently.”

Kibi walked to the closest Sharshun, knocked senseless at the base of the wall. Even with an idea of the stakes involved, and knowing the Sharshun would not spare his life were their situations reversed, he knew he couldn’t just skewer them while they were helpless. But would dumping them into a hundred foot ravine be any better?

“Yeah, it would,” he muttered. “Still don’t like it.” He cursorily checked the Sharshun’s pockets, found them empty, then picked up the body and slung it over his shoulder. Before his conscience could bring up any objections, he strode through the gatehouse and unburdened himself of the Sharshun at the ravine’s edge. He didn’t stay to watch the body fall, but went back for a second.

Dranko was applying salves and bandages to Morningstar and Ernie, even though Tor was clearly the most injured. But soon enough Kibi understood Dranko’s methods. Once Dranko channeled, he might not have the wherewithal to help anyone else. Only when he had done his triage on the others did he kneel before Tor and pray.

By the time Kibi had tossed all four Sharshun (and thank the Gods none of them had stirred to consciousness while he carried them), Dranko had channeled for Tor and was sitting dazedly with his back against the front wall of the keep, next to where Aravia still lay sprawled following the Eye’s wave of force.

“If you were wondering whether my healing could regrow lost body parts,” he said, “I’m afraid the answer is ‘no.’ Incidentally, Tor has only nine fingers now.”

Dranko closed his eyes. “Should be okay, though. It’s only the last finger on his off hand. He’ll get used to it.” Soon thereafter, he was asleep.

Kibi took the Eye of Moirel from his pocket and held it up to his face. It didn’t
look
damaged. It was still a perfect spherical diamond, just under two inches across, with that impossible dot of blackness in its center. There were no cracks, no scratches, not the slightest indication of wear or imperfection.

“You still there?” he asked it.

The Eye of Moirel was silent.

* * *

Tor was the first to wake, and he took the loss of his pinky with an optimistic equanimity. Dranko’s healing had left only a faint pink scar over the knuckle.

Tor flipped his hand back and forth, admiring his wound from both sides. “What a story it’ll make! Someday people will ask me how I lost it, and I’ll tell them I was fighting as part of Horn’s Company, saving the world from being unmade by a guy with a fantastic mustache. Don’t worry, Kibi, you’ll be famous too. We all will!”

Kibi wanted nothing to do with fame, but there was no point in trying to make Tor understand that.

It was another hour before the whole group was awake again. Aravia made a big deal over Tor’s wounded hand, and the boy brightened noticeably at the attention. Kibi was no expert in such matters, but
something
was going on between those two. None of his business, though.

Since the wizardess couldn’t teleport
the Eye, Kibi feared there would be many hours on Vyasa Vya in his future, but Aravia gave him another option.

“Kibi, would you trust Tor to carry the Eye of Moirel for a day?”

Tor might be impetuous and unable to focus, but the boy understood the nature of responsibility. “I suppose so,” he answered. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

“I’m thinking that we’re only ten hours from Tal Hae by carpet, if one were to fly more or less due north of here, across the strait between Nahalm and Harkran. I have to wait until morning before I can teleport us home, but if Tor were to start now…”

“Absolutely!” said Tor. “I have a good sense of direction. It won’t be any problem.”

“But what if the lad falls asleep?” Kibi asked. “He’s bound to, before he gets all the way home.”

“The carpet has magical safeguards while flying to prevent riders from falling off. And while it’s in the air, if Tor tells it ahead of time, it will keep going at a constant direction and speed if the driver releases the tassels. Tor, find an altitude from which you can see the ground, but high enough to clear any trees and hills if you’re still asleep on the other side of the channel. Set your direction due north, tell the carpet to keep flying even if you let go, and try getting a good night’s rest. In the morning you should see Tal Hae when you reach the coast. If you’re off by a few degrees, remember Tal Hae is at the northeast corner of the Bay of Brechen.”

Morningstar argued, successfully, that they should find somewhere else to camp for the night. Sagiro and his allies might be out of the picture, but more Sharshun could be on their way. Kibi had to endure a final carpet ride after all, as Tor shuttled everyone to a sheltered valley some five miles to the southeast. There he handed the boy the Eye of Moirel.

“Don’t drop it in the ocean, lad,” he admonished.

“I promise I won’t. See you back at the Greenhouse!”

And with that, Tor took off, vanishing into the dusky sky. The rest of them spent a quiet night camped beneath a stand of firs, talking about Sagiro and his Sharshun allies and how they planned to use the Eyes to “unmake the world.” Morningstar’s sister Previa had thought that the Eyes and the Seven Mirrors “combined to effect a form of magical transport.” But if so, where would they take you? Maybe different Eyes sent you to different places. Aravia speculated that the Mirrors could be another way to reach the continent of Kivia and that Sagiro might even have known about the Crosser’s Maze and had been hoping to get to it ahead of Horn’s Company.