NOVEL NEXT Chapter Thirty-One: Y Regreso Aquí, Otra Vez Y Comienzo
The air seemed to grow thick with ominousness; dimly, Topher became aware that the night had been getting cooler and windier for the last half-hour, but now the pace was accelerating. It's going to storm. He started to back away from the dwarf, then realized he had nowhere to go. "You, uh... you sure we have to do this?"
The dwarf shrugged, grimacing. "Not real sporting, I know. A Level 31 Hex Knight picking off a Level 10 Clerk when he's low on MP? Just short of downright dishonorable." He spat on his hands, then gripped his mace in both hands; the massive gemstone at its end began to glow a dull red. "But it's not like you have a clan to swear a blood oath, yeah?"
"Why, though? Why would you want to kill me?" Topher's throat was dry; his stomach was in knots, and his pulse was pounding like a jackhammer. "What'd I ever to do you?"
Brox shook his head. "It's not personal." Jagged red barbs of energy began to surround the dwarf, emanating from his mace out around the outlines of his body. He's a spellcaster of some kind, Topher realized distractedly. Some kind of of arcane armor. "But I'll be honest; never really been a fan of humans. You seem decenter than most, but that ain't sayin' much." He raised his mace up high; the barbs of energy began to glow more brightly. "And, as a bonus, you bein' dead means Tok will be safer. That ain't nothin'." Topher, who had just opened his mouth to protest the injustice of all this, closed it again. The two of them faced each other silently for a moment.
Then, with impeccable timing, there was a sudden flash of lightning and a clap of thunder; a drop of rain fell with a soft plap noise, then another. Topher, without thinking, cast Conjure Shield; the globe of force surrounded him, vanishing the raindrops away soundlessly before they could touch him. Won't cost me any MP unless he hits me, in which case I'll probably die instantly anyway. Similarly, Brox's barbed red aura writhed and boiled, searing the rain away and shrouding the dwarf in a mist of steam. The two of them faced each other, impassive as the storm began to rage around them; the red energy around the dwarf's mace began to swirl, and Topher was pretty sure the strike was about to happen. Slowly, he flexed his legs; I can use my Attract Object power to pull myself towards something, but only if I'm in the air. I'll have to time this really --
Then, suddenly, lightning flashed again; and, with a shout, Brox swung the mace down, despite still being a good ten feet away from Topher.
The red aura around the mace blazed forward, burrowing through the ground and the air like a lashing, coiling tentacle; Topher hopped leadenly into the air and pulled on a tree to his left with Attract Object, launching himself sideways as the energy blazed towards him with whiplike speed. To his dismay, the energy turned to follow him; Hex Knight, Topher realized. It must be some kind of curse. A quick glance at Brox showed him that the dwarf was barreling towards him, still holding his mace with both hands; but the dwarf had shifted it to an over-the-shoulder pose, and he looked like he was about to knock a fastball out of the park. And I'm the fastball.
Topher had exactly one play, and he made it; still in midair, he pulled Brox's mace towards him, then let himself drop to the ground like a baseball player sliding into home plate. The dwarf's mace whistled over his head with terrifying force, and the raging torrent of power chasing Topher neatly plowed directly into Brox himself. There was a terrific explosion; Topher slid, rolled, faceplanted, almost brained himself on a rock, and scrambled backwards on all fours as he gasped with pain. Jesus. Why does this shit keep happening to me?
For a moment, he thought he'd pulled it off, that the fight was already over; but as the smoke and dust from the impact cleared, he could see that Brox was only lightly singed. "Pretty good," he sniffed. "But I got a lotta hit points, Human Topher. And I'm guessin' you don't." Shifting the mace to a one-handed grip, the dwarf began to concentrate ominously; blades of red light began to appear above his free hand.
Fuck! Topher was already bruised, sweating, and panting eight seconds into the fight; he knew he wouldn't last another five if he didn't find a way to either neutralize Brox or stop his next attack. 4 MP. Even if I poured it all into one shot, it wouldn't faze this guy; Level 10 times 4 MP is about 40 HP of damage, and he's probably got a few hundred left. He didn't know how he understood the damage formula of a spell, but he didn't have time to question it right now; he was pretty sure the blades would follow him just like the energy torrent had, so he couldn't depend on the same trick a second time. Should I cast Sanctuary? Would it make me safe from the attack? He bit his lip. Probably not, or else Priests would be invincible. Something told him that depending on it in combat would be a fatal mistake; the spell had seemed like something to avoid fights, not win them. Think! What makes the higher-level spells stronger!? That Jhu-Palz-Mij transform has to be what's doing it, but what does it mean?! In desperation, he blurted out, "This is so stupid! Did somebody pay you? Who's behind all this?!"
Brox chuckled, the blades above his hand growing brighter and sharper. "Yeah, I got paid. A good bit, too. But as to who's behind it all..." he shrugged. "Ain't my business. Job came to me through a courier; 'Kill Topher Bailey the Human', along with a big ol' sack of platinum."
Topher despaired; his mind was all twisted and tangled, he couldn't think -- "And you just do it? What kind of an asshole are you?"
The dwarf laughed; Topher could see that his attack was almost ready. Hex Knight attacks apparently have to charge up, noted the distant part of Topher's mind, but it looks like they can't be evaded. And rushing him is probably suicidal, if he's primarily a melee fighter. "The kind that's going to bury you," said Brox with relish; then, with a shout, he released the blades.
They sped towards Topher, howling like foot-long hornets; he had maybe two seconds to live. Numbly, he dropped his spear; it wasn't going to help him now. The only thing that differentiates a spell anyone can cast and a spell that requires Level 10 is the transform. Maybe...
Maybe the transform applies your Level as an input.
He blinked.
The Status is a data value collection.
The bottom dropped out of Topher's mind.
He didn't even notice himself summoning his Stylus; the first clue that he'd done anything at all was when an arc of blinding white light lashed out like a whip-crack of lightning from the pen spinning in his right hand, striking the blades out of the air with flawless precision. His mind was a galaxy of functions and cells; references and tokens, like an infinite spreadsheet of self-referential identity. He was dimly aware that Brox was shouting something that sounded like Dwarvish profanity (Topher's mind received it as being similar to someone angrily eating a bowl of brussels sprouts). I'm channeling akasha again, he realized, and this time he actually knew what that meant; he had tapped into the actual force for which his MP was an abstraction, using his Pen Spinning (Rank A) Skill as a conduit rather than a spell-type Skill. He knew he couldn't maintain it; this was just a fluke, a temporary glitch in his spellcasting that probably wasn't even unique to him, and the instant he lost his intuitive understanding of everything that was going on, he'd be both defenseless and out of MP. He had to end this now.
"Brox!" he yelled out. "Despite how it looks, I'm really sorry about this!"
The dwarf's face screwed up in confusion. "What are you even talkin' about, human?"
Topher spun his Stylus backwards and upwards; the lash of akasha flicked up towards the clouds, far overhead, and Topher let his mind release its epiphany. His Stylus turned back into a nonmagical ballpoint pen; the akasha unmoored itself from him and launched outwards, snapping taut like a rope under tension that had just been cut.
Straight towards Brox.
He tried to dodge, but wasn't fast enough; Topher guessed that Hex Knights mostly relied on their strange, barbed aura to deflect and absorb damage. The akasha didn't even have to touch him; as soon as it made contact with his aura, it was too late.
The world went white.
The explosion that followed blinded, deafened, and stunned Topher, as well as knocking him to the ground and shocking the shit out of him; he wasn't sure how many lightning bolts had just simultaneously struck the dwarf, but he knew it was a big number. Even ten paces away, the electrical discharge was enough to make Topher's hair stand on end and his heart jitter and shimmy; his mouth tasted like he'd been chewing tinfoil. But Brox was clearly extremely dead; the dwarf's body looked roughly like a lump of coal, with gold and silver tracery where his various clasps, jewelry, and dentistry had melted, exploded, or both. Topher coughed, threw up, and almost passed out, but knew he couldn't afford to lose consciousness here; out of MP and outside the city, he'd be zombie chow in five minutes, tops. He crawled to his spear, then used it to lever himself to his feet; he was going to have to get back to the city alone and defenseless (because he couldn't cast Sanctuary), in the dark (because he also couldn't cast Conjure Light), and without Remove Fatigue.
Well, shit. Is it too late to change my mind and let Brox kill me?
It was after midnight when Topher staggered into the Restful Boneyard, exhausted and achy; at least his heart had stopped trying to bounce around erratically inside his ribcage. He practically crawled up the steps, managed to get his key into the lock on the eleventh try, and almost fell over Tok as he half-collapsed through the door. The dwarf was on the floor, smiling; a jolt of adrenaline and panic dropped Topher down next to him, scrambling to find a pulse, before he managed to discern through a haze of anxiety that the merchant was merely extremely drunk. Letting out a massive sigh of relief, Topher flopped down onto the floor and groaned; he needed sleep, information, and a margarita, in a non-linear but tightly defined order.
Tok was giggling; Topher winced and tried to rouse himself. "C'mon, Rockbrand. At least try to get into the bed."
Tok hiccupped. "Oh, you know I can't do that. First date." He giggled to himself again.
"With me, or with Brox?" Topher gave up, crawled on all fours to his own bed, and managed to climb up into it with a heroic effort. "How the hell is it that you do all the drinking, and I get the hangover?"
"Not my first date with Brox," snorted Tok, still giggling. "Sixth. Maybe seventh. He's cute. Tall, too."
What, is Tok gay? Topher thought tiredly, but realized he didn't actually care. Well, so much for that relationship. "Yeah, he seemed real sweet." Topher realized he was going to black out. He just hoped he wouldn't wet the bed or throw up.
"Saw your note." Tok's voice jolted him out of his vertigo, just a little; his eyes were still stuck under his eyelids, and the room was spinning. "Not nice. Making me worry."
"Sorry," Topher mumbled as the black curtain closed in. "But I hit Level 11." From killing your boyfriend. Then the darkness buried him, and he knew no more.
When he woke up the next morning, Tok was gone; he groaned, cast Remove Fatigue before even opening his eyes, and checked his Status out of pure reflex:
Name:
Christopher Bailey
Level:
11
Class:
Clerk
HP:
34/34
MP:
43/44
SP:
11/11
Strength:
Rank F
Dexterity:
Rank F
Constitution:
Rank D [+1: Rank D]
Intelligence:
Rank D
Wisdom:
Rank D [+1: Rank D]
Charisma:
Rank F
Skills:
Literacy (Rank D)
Mathematics (Rank C)
Cooking (Rank F)
Customer Service (Rank D)
Data Entry and Filing (Rank B)
Packaging and Shipping (Rank D)
Home Appliance Repair (Rank F)
Pen Spinning (Rank A)
[Cold Resistance (Rank F)]
[Heat Resistance (Rank F)]
Special Skills:
Disrupt Illusion
Conjure Shield (Rank D)
Conjure Light (Rank F)
Improved Status
Summon Ledger
Remove Fatigue (Rank D)
Minor Sorcery (Rank D)
Summon Stylus
Sanctuary (Rank F)
Unique Skill:
Attract Object
Well, at least I've got full HP and MP again. Groaning, he levered himself out of bed, limped to the bathroom with the aid of his spear, and started drawing and heating a bath; his back hadn't gone out again, but only just. Conjuring himself coffee and a muffin, he bit off half the muffin in one go, dumped the entire bottle of coffee down his throat, then chewed the remaining half of the muffin dourly as he slowly lowered himself into the washbasin, thinking black thoughts.
That's the second time somebody's tried to assassinate me. I think. Topher's memory of whatever had gone down in Strathmore was still pretty fuzzy, but one thing he did remember was that the hunched man in the cloak had tried to kill him based on someone else's say-so, just like Brox; come to think of it, Brox wore a black cloak, too. Might be a coincidence, though; seems like kind of a uniform for assassins. And I guess other edgy Classes. Topher still didn't know much about Hex Knights, but he knew edginess when he saw it.
After a half-hour, he was almost awake; the thought that had been bubbling through his mind, like swamp gas in a tar pit, finally broke the surface. He groaned. This blows. He lingered in the bath until the water went cold, gave up, staggered out, and got dressed; he left his key on the dresser, gathered up his incredibly meager possessions, and began to hobble down the stairs. Safer for everybody. Bury the past.
He was afraid Tok would be able to see him from his stand, but he was fortunate; the dwarf apparently hadn't opened up shop yet. Must be out on another errand. Topher didn't waste the opportunity; he had preparations to make. He hoofed it across the square as quickly as he dared, then stumbled back into Curios; seeing the Stone Elf proprietor glare and open his mouth upon his advent, he held up a hand to forestall any of Dakath's bullshit. "Save it. Can you detect lies?"
The elf glowered. "Not I, but high-Level Priest spells can. Why do you ask?"
Topher closed his eyes. "Because you asked me for a grand story of victory, and I came to deliver. How about 'I killed a level 31 Hex Knight with 4 MP yesterday'? Gotta be a record for fastest turnaround."
Dakath's mouth dropped open. "You cannot be serious."
"I am, but that's not the point." Topher held up Brox's mace, its huge gem still pulsing with crimson malevolence. "How much can I get for this?"
Later, after a lot of haggling and frustration, Topher learned that Brox's mace was actually a +3 Cudgel of Malediction -- apparently highly sought after by all manner of Classes, from Heretics to Hexfists, who utilized curse magic. It took him nearly an hour to negotiate its sale, having to threaten to leave three separate times in order to convince Dakath to cough up the highest price he would contemplate -- three hundred platinum -- and even that only came after Topher promised to spend almost all of it here in the shop.
"First things first," he growled, "what do you have that can block somebody finding you?"
Dakath raised a white eyebrow, stark against his black skin. "A curious desire. Have you done something to warrant such attention?"
"Honest answer? I don't know," Topher admitted. "I lost some of my memory a while back. But this is the second time somebody's tried to hire assassins to take me out, and I'd rather there not be a third."
"Hmm." The Stone Elf wandered amongst the shelves of the shop, peering at and touching items seemingly at random. Finally, he came up with a pair of soft black boots and a silver ring, set with an onyx gemstone. "These boots constantly remove the wearer's tracks as they walk -- useful for preventing both spells which follow a quarry's astral trail or signature as well as foiling more mundane methods of pursuit. The ring, on the other hand..." -- the mage chuckled at his own joke -- "...has two simple but very powerful wards against divination, which protect the wearer from tracking and detection magics of all kinds." He placed them gently into Topher's hands. "Taken apart, each is a good defense against location; but the enchantments reinforce and interweave with each other, and should provide great protection when combined."
"Sounds like a good start," Topher hedged. "But I'm gonna need a few other things, too. A magic bag, some kinda portable bed or shelter... and a really, really kick-ass spellbook."
"Yes..." Dakath eyed him thoughtfully, his index finger tapping against his bottom lip. "What resources do you have now?"
Topher shrugged and summoned his Ledger, handing it to the elf; Dakath looked it over, nodding and making noncommittal noises. "Adequate, for a neophyte. There are a few mistakes in here..." He thumbed through the pages slowly, frowning and wincing alternately with the occasional raised eyebrow of interest. "A common runic lexicon for translating Priest and Mage sequences into a shared coordinate space? That's novel. Though, I suspect, not as original as you might believe; a Sage might be able to confirm, however." He closed the book and handed it back to Topher, who was blinking in shock.
"...Seriously? None of that surprised you except for the one thing you think somebody else probably already did?" Topher felt his face turning red.
Dakath shook his head, his flowing white locks cascading handsomely around his long, pointed ears. "As I told you during our previous meeting, magery is a long and complex endeavor full of such work -- rigorous symbolic analysis is the standard course of action for any mage. Your spellwork, while pleasingly thorough, would not be amiss in a classroom of first- or second-year mage students." He chuckled at Topher's infuriated and scandalized expression. "That isn't the criticism you think it is, by the way. It means you are progressing normally -- a good goal to have, assuredly, but most likely not what you wanted to hear."
Topher stood there, simmering very lightly, for a few moments; then, with a sigh, he released his anger. "Okay, then. How far can I get? And what book would help get me there while filling in the theoretical gaps in my uneducated-ass approach?"
Dakath shrugged. "As I said before, your lifespan is against you there -- as you are no doubt aware, magery requires both a theoretical understanding and a sufficient Level to utilize it. Assuming, very forgivingly, that you raise your Level as quickly as possible without being eaten by a monster, you might progress to as high as the fifth circle -- spells which require Level 45 -- before succumbing to old age." Pursing his lips, he turned to pluck a large, ominous-looking black tome from another shelf. "As for the best resource to guide you, this volume -- Rexro's Omnibus Occultia -- is most likely your most sagacious choice. It contains a large cross-section of both Mage and Priest spells -- utilizing, I suspect, at least a somewhat convertible lexicon for each, as it is normally written for Heretics and similar practitioners of multi-disciplinary spellcasting. It also contains a rather comprehensive set of appendices, which you may find instructive." He held the book out to Topher.
Topher took it, shivering; it had a huge silver skull on the front cover, and the black, leathery binding felt weirdly slippery under his fingertips. "Okay. How much have I got left?"
"Let us call it thirty for the boots, one hundred for the ring -- it is quite coveted, you understand -- and another hundred for the spellbook. That leaves you seventy platinum." Dakath fetched a soft black bag with a long strap -- kind of looks like a messenger bag, thought Topher -- and what looked like a black cloth scroll. He handed both to Topher, but didn't release them right away; instead, he looked into Topher's eyes grimly. "The bag is enchanted with a fairly common ability -- extradimensional storage and weightlessness -- but the cloth roll is a bedroll which contains numerous enchantments for restfulness, reinvigoration, and healing. It can purge poisons, cure sicknesses, and ward off enemies, but it gains its depth of support from a likewise extradimensional enchantment. You must never put it into the bag. Do you understand?"
Topher blinked. "Why not? What would happen?"
"The results would be... unpredictable. But none of them pleasant. You might merely be torn apart by concussive forces, but you also might be turned inside-out or sent screaming into a dimension beyond time, where you would suffer a thousand lifetimes of agony for each instant which passed in the real world." Dakath released the items contemptuously; Topher almost fell over backwards. "Let us say twenty for the bag, and fifty for the bedroll. I believe our accounts are settled."
Topher examined the cloth curiously; it looked quite a bit like an ordinary rolled-up pillowcase or something equally unassuming. "All that, huh? Guess it's too much to hope that it also fixes a bad back."
Dakath cocked his head. "You suffer from an ailment?"
"Yeah. Human old age sucks." Topher carefully stowed the cloth in his right pocket, then hung the bag over his right shoulder so that it would be accessible on the left side of his body, as far from the bedroll as possible. "Varissian said it was something..." -- he tried to remember -- "...muscle strain, or something. Nothing I've done has ever helped it."
The Stone Elf sniffed. "I quite believe that. The ailment you describe is extremely common amongst elves, and its remedy..." -- the elf smiled evilly -- "...is physical exercise. An undertaking with which you have visible inexperience "
Topher snorted and rolled his eyes. "Tell me another one. Doing push-ups and pumping iron isn't going to fix my back, Elfy McElferson."
"You may choose not to believe me; the burden of such a choice is yours to bear, after all." Dakath shrugged. "Nevertheless, it is true. In particular, what you describe arises from weaknesses in the muscles of the upper back and abdomen; simply touch your toes, then reach as high overhead as you can, thirty times each morning."
Topher scowled. Okay, now I know this guy's fucking with me. I'm not gonna magically cure my back doing Winnie the Pooh's Stoutness Exercises. "Right. Well, I'm going to get the hell out of this town; if somebody found me here once, they'll do it again. Here's to hoping we don't have to irritate each other again anytime soon."
Dakath held up his hand in what Topher hoped was an elven gesture of farewell and not their equivalent of the middle finger. "So may we hope."
He was almost ready.
He had his new boots on; his very expensive Earth-made boots were now at the bottom of a rain barrel somewhere in the city, along with the rest of the clothes he'd purchased from Oguro and anything else that could identify him as an Otherworlder. His hands were totally empty, because he'd thrown his spear into a river; his coins, his two remaining Magic Stones, and his bottle of soulbond glue were all in his magic bag, along with his new grimoire. There was only one thing he needed now, and that was a clean getaway.
He almost made it without having to have the conversation he was dreading; but fate has a funny way of punishing people trying to sneak out of relationships, and Tok caught him at the last minute as he was scurrying into the mouth of a yawning tunnel that led downwards into a maze of staircases. Hearing his name called out behind him, Topher flinched and cursed. "Okay, fine. You don't have to shout."
Turning around, he caught the dwarf's incredulous gaze. "I can't explain. You deserve an explanation -- don't get me wrong -- but I can't give you one. I'm sorry."
Tok ducked his head; his gaze looked bruised. "You don't owe me anything, Topher. But we both know this is insane. You can't do this alone."
Topher shrugged. "It's not like I can do it with anybody else."
"Can't you?" The dwarf took a half-step forward. "This is suicidal, and that's coming from me. Nobody will even find your bones." He took another shuffling half-step. "If I can't talk you out of it..."
Topher shook his head. "No. You can't come with me, Tok. You have your own life -- a business you built and that you keep going with tireless effort. I'll never have anything like that. Don't throw it away for my sake."
"You could." Tok's voice was quiet. "You could come with me."
Topher sighed. "The worst part is," he admitted, "I would have liked to. There are worse ways to live, Tok -- a lot of them. But I don't have that choice."
The dwarf stood there silently, chewing on his words. At last, he managed, "Whatever you think you have to do... you don't. There's always another way."
"Maybe," Topher admitted, "but this is the one I'm choosing." Trying his best to harden his heart, he turned and strode away. "Just do us both a favor and forget you ever met me."
Tok stood there, unmoving; Topher wondered what was going through his mind. "I don't think I'll be able to do that, Topher." Topher could hear dense emotion in his voice, but he couldn't identify it; didn't know what it meant or how to process it. At last, he heard the one thing he had been daring to hope for; the sound of Tok's boots retreating as the dwarf walked away.
Bitterly, Topher stomped forward alone into the dungeons beneath Wanbourne -- a place so dangerous that even adventurers above Level 20 didn't go there except in groups. Bury the past. He hated himself, but that wasn't new; when it came to hating himself, Topher Bailey was pretty sure he was S-Rank.
END OF VOLUME 2