Thaumaturgical Fracas

conclusion

by Michael Hanson

“Thaumaturgical Fracas” began in issue 115.

Derth hurriedly articulated a well-practiced glyph in the air with his left hand and the Aulumbra Flame sprang up as a circle of fire on the floor, in a twenty foot radius around him. The crystalline insects poured through it unfazed. He speeded up his hand movements and gestured out a half-dozen more intricate glyphs. The Drynlea’s Breath appeared as a fifteen-foot circle of white mist just inside the circle of flame. This slowed down the insects’ movements somewhat, but they continued their advance smeared with ice and snow.

Sweat was now streaming down Derth’s brow and any expression of joviality had long since fled his face as he proceeded to construct a large, ungainly glyph. Derth’s hands trembled as the translucent cyan pictograph formed between his fingers and then floated up into the air. Instantly a six-foot high wall surrounded him within a ten-foot radius. The crystal insects immediately started to climb it. Unfortunately for them it had the properties of a superflypaper! Derth’s efforts, he realized, only allowed for a brief stalemate.

As soon as the entire wall was covered with stuck insects, their brethren would merely climb over their bodies and swarm over him. Derth estimated he would have only another ten seconds till they reached him. He set his lamp on the ground thus freeing his right hand to produce one last glyph. “Melanceath Vistristinnea“ Derth intoned quickly, “Gwyar Mannonan!”

A red splash of light filled the chamber. The glyph was a huge, unwieldy patch of glowing, dusty red light that suffered from neither the beauty nor the complexity of his earlier Thaumic expulsions.

The insects spilled over the wall and swarmed onto Derth. Their jaws, however, could not make as much as a scratch on his diamond-hard figure.

Derth hovered above his body for a few seconds to reassure himself of its invulnerability and then levitated to the far side of the room. Ignoring the terrific strain on his psyche and the rapid depletion of energy from his Thaumaturgican Gland, he snagged a couple of minor demons from a closet dimension he had constructed as a class project the previous year. After giving them brief but terse instructions, the little devils started to run around on all fours and commenced to lick up and devour fifty of the insects at a time with their grotesque, foot-long tongues.

With playful reminiscence, Derth doubted the insects would make as much as a dent in the lining of the demons’ stomachs. He had once seen them devour an entire castle, stone, mortar, wood supports and the clothes right off a foreign king’s court. All that had remained of the pompous ruler’s celebration was a mob of terrified, naked servants and aristocrats.

It was over in ten minutes. Derth thanked the little gluttons by pocketing their essences back in his private Thaumic fold and immediately jumped back into his own body. He staggered out of the room in complete exhaustion yet somehow found the willpower to emit a brief chuckle. “You’ve bugged me once too often today, Devlon.” Derth bellowed with laughter, “Ha ha ha ha ha!”

The winged snake struck Berrick’s blonde head and threw him off balance. For an incredibly long instant he thought he would fall off the mile-deep, circular, granite stairwell he had been climbing for the last hour. A moment later, he regained his equilibrium and turned to face his opponent. It was at least three feet long and nearly five inches in diameter. Its wings were silky and membranous in appearance and thick red venom dripped from its finger-length fangs.

“My turn,” Berrick whispered unemotionally as he raised his right hand forward, palm up, and slowly fanned his fingers. Too late in realizing its mistake, the Sreel twisted in mid air and started to fly away, only to be snared by the glyph. A glowing translucent blue ball of light surrounded the abomination and immediately began to sparkle and flare. It commenced to decrease in size and instantly the Sreel screamed out its pain in a high-pitched, almost human, shriek. In a couple of seconds, both it and the glyph had disappeared.

Exhausted, and well over halfway through his Thaumic reserves, Berrick climbed up the very end of the stairwell, stumbled into a dry, dusty chamber, and collapsed onto the floor. After a few minutes rest, he grasped the school Talisman firmly and waited for the signal. When the diamond imbedded in the cylinder’s end waned to a final glow it would be sunset, and they would all attempt contact. If any of the others had made it up to this sublevel of Mount Bran, they would coordinate a group attack.

Berrick dispassionately considered their modus operandi. They had paid heavily for the information on Devlon’s inner court. The Sorcerer King would be alone and deep within his thoughts when they burst upon him. Or so they planned.

“Assuming none of us set off any alarms or early warning systems among all these abandoned passages,” Berrick grimaced. He knew the odds were stacked against them. Berrick leaned against the wall and struggled to keep awake against the drowsing effect of the cold basement. He calculated various attacks based on using twenty assailants, fifteen, even as few as ten. He would need at least ten other mages. No less. His energy reserves were near empty. He was starving and dying of thirst. His body ached with exhaustion. His well-oiled mind just could not construct an effective and guaranteed attack plan with less than ten people! Berrick waited. He planned.

Janeel staggered through a low arch and stopped in front of a huge, ancient, moss-covered door. She scanned her memory of the crumbling shard of map they had all memorized back at the school. The hinges on the door were actually a fresco. Each one was molded into the shape of a pair of large sows that fenced with baker’s rolling pins like a couple of prize swordsmen. This was an entrance to one of the castle’s storage pantries. Janeel squatted down on her muscular haunches, pulled out her last Leece pod and commenced to chew on it. The Talisman’s diamond was nearly lightless. It was almost time. Janeel’s mind sparked with memory.

So many had lost their lives in getting this far. Tessil and Beren in the Elfin Lakefire; Ruth and Kalish and Jifkin amidst the Stone Tigers on the Morrigan Plains; David and Luthiel and Jelth and three score others on Crom’s horrific ice bridge! They had started out with one hundred. Only two score had entered the tubes. “How many now?” Janeel’s anger flickered again and again.

The Amaethon School’s seance had been painful and costly. Dozens of students died. One hundred were crippled. Betheriel. . . “Oh, beautiful Betheriel!” Janeel wept with rage and grief. Betheriel left mindless!

It was, in the end, considered a success. Across leagues of ocean, mountains, jungle and desert, the Amaethon School’s shadowy, Saurian glyph traveled and searched. No more loyal a bloodhound than this weird. No more persistent a desire than this spell. It found him. The killer. The source. Devlon the Destroyer, Necromancer Prince of Tesra and general of the Southern Continents.

“Yes,” Janeel shivered with nearly hysterical rage, “he would pay.”

Derth pulled himself over the last rung of the ancient iron ladder that jutted up from a bottomless black well like the skeletal tongue of some long-dead behemoth. He sat on the slippery ledge as rusty water dripped onto his head from a grating on the wall. It was a drainage tunnel from the court kitchen, or so Derth’s memory of the map told him. Fifty mages had sacrificed ten years of future servitude to the Dark One for that map. Derth shivered. He could find nothing to laugh about in such a chilling transaction. He grasped his Talisman firmly as the last of the yellow light fled from the large diamond. A moment later, two of the one hundred ruby chips flared to life.

“Only two,” Derth whispered, and then he leaned his head back to laugh. There was no joy in his laughter. There was no glee in his smile. Derth’s eyes bled an icy wetness and his face was stretched into a horrifying rictus, an almost evil parody of good humor. He laughed until his tears fell like rain and pooled on his lips and chin. He laughed until all humor, all joy, all gladness was drained from his soul. And then he laughed some more.

A little while later Derth shook himself, gritted his teeth, and pulled the rusted iron grating off of the drainage tunnel with one terrific heave of his muscles. He tossed the grillwork into the pit and commenced to climb up along the slimy, treacherous tunnel.

A shiver ran through Berrick upon seeing only two of the ruby chips light up. “Three of us left“ his mind calculated; “three,” his mind multiplied; “three,” his mind divided; “three,” his mind fractioned. The loss of loved ones had long ago prepared him for this moment. He would meet his destiny with stern strength, unswerving willpower and professional detachment. Berrick took a deep breath, hardened his nerves, and struggled to open the huge oak door that separated him from the castle’s cattle bins.

Her every sense was smothered in a pure, burning, white rage. Ninety-seven mages had died to get the three of them this far. “I will kill you. “ The words, like minute Novas, exploded in her mind. Janeel stood up and faced the large door.

Their hard-priced reconnaissance proved true. The castle guard was drilling in the courtyard, the servants were all eating in their rooms, trusted advisors and courtesans were entertaining themselves in several of the castle’s famed ballrooms and Devlon, atop the isolation of his simple, austere throne, was contemplating another day’s conquest. The sight of three filth-covered youths bursting into the room from three separate entrances had all the markings of a major annoyance. When the sparkling Celthar Lightning Glyph destroyed Devlon’s favorite erotic statuette, his feelings were confirmed.

Berrick grimaced in fierce puzzlement at his misplaced attack. He was sure he had mastered the targeting of that spell weeks ago! He glanced for a split second over his two classmates’ rapidly advancing forms. Derth looked as stout and mountain-like as always. The only thing out of place was his ever-present smile. It was gone. Berrick mentally nodded his head. They had all lost so much.

Janeel’s change was not so subtle. Her body had the gaunt, fatless look of the Leece-pod addict. Her skin was stretched shockingly tight over her sinews giving her a deceptively muscular appearance. Her flesh seemed to glow a faint yellow, and the pupils of her eyes were dilated to an alarming degree. He’d have to chastise her about this later. If they survived. He wondered for a split second if his outward appearance had altered to any noticeable degree.

Berrick made the hand signal for a pronged attack and the three Amaethon School avengers split up to surround Devlon’s throne. Berrick immediately formed the Aulumbra Flame into a fiery spear and cast it at the Destroyer.

With her drug-enhanced sight, Janeel immediately took note of the faint glowing aura that played about Devlon’s form and how it neatly deflected Berrick’s lightning glyph. “The rumors are true,” she thought amidst her rage, “he is protected by a living glyph!” Janeel dived forward and seemed to spin across the floor in a dizzying display of acrobatic flips and leaps.

When she was within fifteen feet of the Destroyer, Berrick’s flame spear shattered against Devlon’s magical shield. Simultaneously a shadowy door appeared in the air above Devlon and dozens of small, steel daggers flew out. Janeel immediately changed the course of her acrobatics. To her chagrin she found that her Leece-enhanced reflexes were barely up to sidestepping or leaping out of the way of the endless stream of blades that spilled from the sky.

She immediately started augmenting the Leece juice’s strength with the energy from her Thaumaturgican Gland. It did not help. The blades were now falling at a faster and faster rate, and it was only a matter of time till they connected with her ever-tiring form.

Out of the corner of her eye, Janeel saw Berrick frantically mouthing and gesturing a whole series of offensive glyphs toward a sinisterly skilled Devlon. Simultaneously she caught a sight of Derth struggling to maintain the gargantuan Mesgeadra Stone Glyph before himself. He was fighting back a dragon!

Devlon was laughing wholeheartedly now. Not in ages had he had this much fun. The fools were as inept as they were young. His body’s Faelin Glyph deflected their strongest magicks, and he was sure he could best these children in any kind of physical contest. With an arrogance born of countless battles and countless years he decided not to call the castle guard. He would deal with the infants all by himself.

Berrick calculated. They were outmatched in strength and skill. They needed confusion. He didn’t hesitate. A quick hand signal to Janeel and she instantly altered the course of her acrobatics toward a weakening Derth and the large, scaly reptile that was slowly breaking through his glyph. She dove between the creature’s huge legs in a tight ball and then commenced to cartwheel back towards Devlon. Dozens of the flying blades pierced the back of the dragon. Several of them severed its spine immediately, crippling the giant figure, which toppled to the ground like a felled Oak.

Berrick let loose a deceptively simple, bird-shaped glyph directly at Devlon’s face. It changed course at the last moment and struck the ceiling directly above the destroyer immediately dislodging a large wedge of stone. Devlon gestured magnanimously with his hand and deflected the boulder a mere three feet above his head and redirected it at Janeel’s oncoming body. Derth and Berrick rushed the throne from two other directions. Berrick brandished the sparkling silver Gwyar Sword Glyph and Derth mouthed the crude words to an ancient and most terrible doom.

Janeel leaped upwards and flipped sideways over the low-flying chunk of ceiling which sailed on to the far side of the hall, where it exploded against one of the room’s huge pillars. She landed slightly off balance and rolled for several feet away from the throne.

Derth’s doom started to work. The air all about Devlon seemed to flash into and out of focus in a dizzying display of multicolored pyrotechnics. The Destroyer screamed in pain, and his body started to spasm wildly. He instantly raised his hands above his head and screamed, “Eribol Corcadynas!”

The Doom instantly tore itself off of Devlon’s Faelin Glyph and leaped with frightening intensity back onto its master, Derth. Devlon laughed joyfully at this and produced the ebony Pryderi Soulsblade Glyph in his right hand just in time to parry an overhand slash by Berrick.

Derth struggled for a moment and then slumped unconscious to the floor. His own doom had proved too powerful for him to handle.

Smiling, Devlon knocked the Sword Glyph out of a surprised Berrick’s hand with a dizzying riposte and parry. The Destroyer was easily the boy’s better in fencing skill. He lunged forward with the Soulsblade to skewer the helpless youth when Janeel tackled his legs from behind.

Devlon dropped his ebony weapon, and his right hand burst into a bright white ball of light, which he immediately swung at Janeel. In horror she ducked under the Nudd Holocaust Glyph and was instantly showered with dozens of splinters from the solid granite throne. Devlon had shattered it with his touch! Janeel collapsed onto her back and screamed in pain and rage as blood streamed from several fatal wounds.

“Now!” Berrick’s mind clicked as he whipped out his school Talisman. As if sensing this, Devlon spun around, snapped his glowing fist outward in a brutal backhand strike whose tight arc intersected with Berrick’s hand in a brief explosion of white light. The Talisman and Berrick’s fist disintegrated into a thousand screaming bits of energy. Berrick gasped in unbelievable pain as he fell backwards onto the upper step of the throne.

Devlon’s eyes glowed with a smoldering green radiance as Berrick bruised his body horribly rolling down the throne steps in a painful attempt to keep some distance between the Destroyer and himself.

A smoky and putrescent beam of energy burst forth from Devlon’s sunken eyes and struck the steps of the throne before him. The tiled floor immediately caught fire and exploded up and outwards in a rumbling, burrowing swath of destruction whose destination was obviously Berrick. The lone mage propped himself up on the unconscious form of Derth with his remaining hand and struggled fiercely against the pain of his cauterized stump to concentrate on one final offensive spell.

The flaming green channel of destruction approached within a single foot of them when Janeel leaped upon Devlon’s back. She pushed a depressed sliver of cat bone on the side of her Talisman instantly releasing a hidden six-inch long dagger. Screaming with a rage born of grief, shock, anger and pure madness, Janeel plunged the blade downwards with both hands. In a brilliant explosion of light and sound the magical Talisman tore through Devlon’s Faelin Glyph and into his muscular neck.

Blood splattered upwards onto Devlon’s handsomely chiseled face in a tsunami of frothing turbulence. Janeel continued to gouge with all of her waning strength and anger on the back of the fiercely struggling, larger man. Another geyser of gore erupted out of his neck and onto his voluminous grey robe. A few seconds later he fell to the floor and convulsed briefly in a final death spasm.

Janeel stood above the fallen Destroyer for the briefest of moments as a triumphant smile spread across her face. Derth and Berrick had not failed her. Derth had worked for weeks with Amaethon’s master metalsmith to construct the Talismans. At nearly the cost of his life Berrick had acquired a string of hair, reputed to be of Devlon’s own scalp, during a terrifying exploration of the Skathan underworld. The blades were forged in the same cauldron as the stolen thread of hair. It was this that had allowed the Talisman to breach Devlon’s mighty living Glyph.

The last vestiges of Janeel’s magic drained out of her Thaumaturgican Gland just as her life’s blood had exited her body scant minutes ago. Without the sustenance of the hermetic weird feeding her heart and lungs she immediately fell lifeless to the floor.

Tears of mixed joy and sorrow streamed down from Berrick’s eyes as he gently cradled his crippled arm. Derth’s eyes started to flicker and he quickly came to.

“Janeel?” Derth whispered as his eyes focused on her body.

“No,” Berrick grunted just a bit too harshly, “we’re on our own.”

The sounds of guards and servants shouting echoed into the throne room. They would probably arrive in a matter of seconds.

“We’ve got to move now,” Derth whispered to his last comrade, “think you can make it to the Kitchen exit?”

“Right now,” Berrick replied with a weary smile, “I feel like I could do anything.”