Part 7: Chapter Six: The Prince of the Air

Chapter Six: The Prince of the Air



What is this? The god of vines? This great vine feels strange beneath my feet. It has the smooth and cool feel of a plant, but there's something hard at its core, like bone. It is still, its only movements in my imagination. This place has a marvelous fragrance.



The vine leads to a small island. It is just as perfumed as the vine. Little gifts hang in seed-pods shaped like treasure chests--a tribute from the god-vine?



The oasis gives way to more of the tunnels. I wait in the green fields a while longer before I plunge back into the harsh red stone of Cull Hazard.



There are no monsters whatsoever. It's quiet. Not even the distant trumpeting of Wyverns echoes down these halls.



Sunlight? No; moonlight. I've been in this cave for the whole of a day. I leave it behind and reach the little town of Normoon.



The slight breeze carries a pleasant chill. The moonlight casts a restful glow across the place. I feel almost at home.



I come across a garishly-dressed man calling himself Oscar. I ask him what he might know about the wind's calming. He explained, "Me and my mates are vagabonds. We wander wherever our boots take us. But the other day, we stumbled across a precious stone in the woods outside this town. But after we got into town, the one who was holding it disappeared." I ask the holder's name; Oscar doesn't remember. He's bad with names. He mentions offhand that whatever his name was, he was... all manner of unrepeatable things.

I hope this apparently-vile thief is still within reach. But why such gross negligence of a sacred artifact? Surely the druids of Normoon would know how to protect an item of such importance.

I head for the inn, ready for a good rest after such a long string of close calls. I am only a little surprised to see Shannon.



She explains that she has been here before, teleporting back on a set of Green Wings. I nod; magic wings bond to the man or woman who receives them. There's no sharing, convenient as that would be.

I make a reservation and climb up the stairs, passing a brightly-dressed blond boy about my age on the way. I catch a whiff of black powder in his wake. A firework-crafter?

Come the morning, I set out to explore the town before plunging into the forest.



Normoon is lovely in the day, but rather hot in the absence of wind. The windmills grind slowly in the sparse breeze.



I take a little of the town's surplus to bolster my supplies. Nothing they'll miss. Greed is the sin of the wind--to please the self at the expense of others. The virtue of water is to take only what one needs.

I catch a glimpse of spirits hiding in the grain fields and hunt after them.







Huh. I feel... emasculated.



Before taking on the forest, I seek out the head of the village. His name is Gelus. He confirms my suspicions: the Wind Jade has been disturbed by someone, and appropriated by--who? I asked how the Jade could be stolen so easily. He explains that the Jade was buried somewhere in the forest far from prying eyes and obscured from scrying magic. He is unsure how it was found again, and further, that he has no clue how to locate it. "Nobody here but us old folks. We're retired druids. We can't do magic anymore. So if the wind should stop or demons should swarm into town, we would be powerless to do much about it."

I feel more pity than anything else--after all, the rediscovery of the Wind Jade seems to have been an accident. He entrusts me to the safety of the Wind Jade should I recover it. The thought of safekeeping two objects of power makes me nervous. A great deal hinges on my continued survival.



I ask another vagabond on the way into the forest. "There was a magician in our group," he said. "He kept to himself. He disappeared not far from here. He might be in the woods." I have no doubt he remains still.



I step into the forest and see a stray spirit right off. I approach it, wary of the ambushes that tend to lurk near unclaimed spirits. I'm ready to take whatever this forest can--



--oh.

The sphere is a Thunder Jell. Resilient, attacks with homing-arrow spells. A more presentable Blood Jell, in essence. Not much of a threat, though annoyingly hard to put down.

The ant-termite is called a Termant. Each one is a self-contained hive; insects tinier than fleas crawl through its veins and organs like blood, carrying out the thing's life-functions. They strike with deep-cutting wind cutters and are modestly threatening.

The great white spider is an Arachnoid. They spew great flaming wads of webbing, damaging but easy to avoid at a distance.

The fairy is a Temptress. Incapable of being attacked with melee weaponry--their vitals are too high off the ground to reach with anything less than a cavalry spear--they must be struck down with my magic.

Individually, they would be modest challenges with individual quirks to work around.

All together? An utter nightmare.

I'm no good to anyone dead.



Individually, I can burn my way through these creatures. Temptresses are a special case. Should I exhaust my spirit reserves, I am essentially helpless to kill them. I cannot heal immediately after I defeat them. They are fine tools of attrition against a fighter who can otherwise refresh himself quite readily after combat.

After trying to work my way through the vicious and cosmopolitan assemblies of monsters, I slip away to rest in town. I can barely crest the hills without testing myself to the limit.



In the inn, I find a woman of most striking beauty; she, Tilly, is a magician, the sole spirit tamer still active in the town. I ask her what she might know about the vagabonds passing through Normoon. "Not long ago four vagabonds came to our town. One of them looked quite cunning, claimed he was a magician with plenty of magic... I haven't seen him lately, but his cohorts are still around. What could've happened to him?" I ask if she knows his name. After shuffling through her memory, she says he's named Zelse.



I return to the forest. Advancing is painful--I have to choose my battles carefully, as I must grow stronger to prepare against whoever stole the Wind Jade. I try to rest in areas that are cluttered and difficult to maneuver in, hoping the monsters here won't try to attack in such tight quarters. It works... to a degree. My way into the forest is still strewn with monsters.

Making it to the end in one piece sounds a difficult proposition.



The monsters are much easier to defeat in smaller groups. The Jack o'Lanterns are simple defense constructs, set to defeat intruders; sadly, I qualify as an intruder. I'm certain Tilly can enchant more.



I come across a small cabin. From a distance I can see a spirit lurking near; it looks like a good place to rest between bouts with monsters.



It seems to be a supply cabin. There's a bounty of healing supplies, of which I take a sample, as well as another spirit.



I follow the road from the cabin; the forest bleeds away into the familiar blighted canyons near Normoon. The wind has died completely around here; it's as still as a crypt.



I see him. I break out in goosebumps. It's not been too long--only a few days--since I fought Solvaring. Was I ready to fight another magician of his class?

There's no hope for the world if I'm not.

I charge in, calling him out. I tell him he will pay for taking the Wind Jade, that his selfishness has killed and ruined innocent lives. I remember the Merrow, their scraped knees, their rapid gibbering speech; I remember Rose, broken, lost forever.

This spirit-tamer would pay for his hubris.



He's dressed like a stage-magician, one who spirit-tames for amusement and entertainment. Not an ignoble profession. But he's affixed the Wind Jade to a phylactery-staff like a gaudy bauble advertising his wealth. The nerve--the blasphemy!

"Get out of the way, brat! I'm the one who holds the Wind Jade! All you who belittled my power are about to be blown to smithereens." He laughed and raised his staff.



Bolts of wind-magic leap from the Wind Jade; they flutter around me in a rapidly-closing whirlwind. I can dodge some, but others scour my body. I respond with blasts of fire as Zelse continues pelting me with the blast. When he draws near, I close in and strike. Neither of us are trained warriors, but I've had more experience hitting things with a stick; I nail him in the chest, knocking the breath out of him.

He responds with a Large Cutter, an enormous version of the wind cutter spell. I can't dodge it at this range; I run, sending blasts behind me to discourage him. If he keeps up with the large cutter, I'm done for.

Before I can escape, he closes to middle range--then he raises his arms in a crucified position, rises from the ground, and--



--a scintillating, brilliant field of wind-magic sizzles down our battlefield. It's so bright and obvious I dodge it with ease. He was well within range of the large cutter spell--why is he neglecting it in favor of bright, easy-to-dodge stage magic?

As the fight wears on, it becomes obvious why. He taunts and mocks me as he raises blasts against me, teasing me with the whirling cutters, insisting on reaching medium range and blasting at me with the field; it never hits me. I respond with earth magic, wearing him down.



He backs me up against a tree. "Give up," Zelse said. "It's not too late to fight for me, you know! I could make you a king. Give you whatever kingdom you want, whatever women you want. Not bad, eh, kid?" He waggles his staff at me like a disapproving parent. "Lord of your own domain at, what, twelve? Your own harem, all the wives you'll ever want? Just a little boot-licking and you'll be set for life."

I tell him there are no kings in Limbo.

"Cute," he says. He aims the Wind Jade at my head. "When I remake this world I'll blast away the shit and rule an empire of wind."

I snort, unintentionally.

"What was that?" Zelse said, gritting his teeth.

It was a basic rule of magic. Synchronicity rules over specialization. No element is truly complete, just as no person is truly alone and self-sufficient. Mastery of magic requires mastery of all elements and understanding how they work together; mastery of life requires companionship, cooperation, each man's strength helping ease another man's weakness. Serving one element is the way of a monster--an empire of wind would be an empty vanity, an eternal monument to the maker's hubris.

He has no answer for that. Scowling, he raises his staff.

I raise mine first. I invoke my strongest rock spell and pray, as the great stone arcs at him, that I had enough calmness in my heart to keep it from killing him.



He is crushed in an instant like a beetle. The stone fades.

I walk over to Zelse, heart pounding in my chest. He's broken, shattered, but not yet dead. His breathing is ragged. I must have broken most of his bones, damaged many of his organs.

I lay a hand on his forehead and call the healing spell--again and again. His wounds knit--some. He'll be down for a while. He stares at me in shock; he still hasn't the energy to rise.

I break the Wind Jade from his staff, toss the staff back at his side--just out of reach until he catches his breath. He'll survive. I tell him I won't kill him. I hate him. His irresponsibility has killed and damned so many. But I have the choice to leave him alive. Remembering Solvaring, I tell him that I am not a murderer.

I leave him.



The Jade is cool in my hands, and light, even lighter than the Earth Orb. I press it against my forehead. I feel its strength augmenting my own, as the Earth Orb did. It joins the Earth Orb in my pack. I shan't bond any further, just as with the Orb.



The forest path leads to a familiar-looking bridge. A ways down, I find Jeff and Lloyd finishing up the last repairs to the bridge. I let the finish, then take the inaugural step. The new wood passes the test. I thank them and head on back to Larapool.

Next: A crystal road.




Chapter Six-point-Five: A Letter From the Back

My Lady of Mercy,

The elements have been kind. I passed the boy at Normoon and had a chance to observe him at length. Further, my information-gathering has been bountiful, and many damning facts have surfaced regarding King Beigis and his armies. I am afraid the situation is far worse than we could have imagined, and yet, paradoxically, we may have a stronger hand than we initially thought.

First: Beigis is indeed stepping up the draft. Knights are now graduating at twelve and replaced by recruits aged six, male and female alike. Veterans retired due to injury are being recalled on the promise that Beigis's new high magister is a master of healing unmatched in living memory. Unofficially, the prisons have been emptying into Guilty's breeding-pits, along with every other "recruit" he has been scrounging. The soldiers are beginning to notice their ranks are not increasing as rapidly as the rate of recruitment would imply; less than one in ten are making it to the rank-and-file while the Rose Knights are gradually swelling. I have cast my eye into the place; may the spirits be praised that Falling-Shadow magic remains a state secret, for Guilty's whole laboratory was spread before my eyes.

The key to his success lies in, of all things, the Man-Eaters. We know that Man-Eaters are not of this world, made as they are of exotic flesh. Guilty is just as alien as the Man-Eaters, and so is his magic. He works not in earth, fire, wind, or water, but in meat and bone. He has been butchering the new recruits while still leaving them, somehow, alive, and combining their dissected bodies with Man-Eater flesh. He commands the stuff to slip into suits of plate armor, supplies them with enchanted weapons, and sends them out as perfectly-obedient soldiers, able to suffer impossible damage before dying, able to heal fully from any injury that doesn't kill them outright, and able to be replaced on a moment's notice from any human being, no matter how sickly or young. They are not perfect; they lack a human's sense and ability to improvise, and thus would fall easily to our strike-armies. But other nations will not be so lucky; knights arranged in phalanxes and cavalries will be shredded by these beasts. The damage the Rose Knights could cause can only be matched by a contingency of master spirit tamers.

We have no contingent, but we have the good fortune of having a young genius on our side. Brian Barthlolomoy, son of Bartholomew, is our World up our sleeve. I saw him hunting for stray spirits, his little curlicue-hair sticking up out of the wheat like a quail's bob, and while he collected his little prizes I examined him with Spirit-Eyes.

I hate to use "unprecedented," but no other word comes close. Brian is a prodigy in magic. I have never seen a spirit tamer use so many varieties of combat magic. His willingness to experiment with so many different spells gives him an enormous advantage in combat. He is not content with simple blasts; the forms his attacks may take can fit any circumstance that is thrown at him. I theorize it is this skill that gave him the edge on Fargo and Zelse.

It didn't help Fargo that he was an idiot. No, that is too harsh; he was a revolutionary, an idealist, and sensing the weakness in a king and acting on it requires its own sort of intelligence. But he was overconfident, relying on stolen supplies and the might of an elemental gem to become a one-man army. He considered himself post-human, and thus uniquely suited to help his fellow just-men. Brian, in contrast, is as humble as an earthworm, dutifully carrying out his tasks unaware of his importance to our cause. He outwitted and tore apart Fargo, and has left us an interesting experiment in his wake in the form of Zelse.

Zelse is a mere conjuro, a play-magician and, judging from his former associates' talk, an egotist writ large. Brian defeated him without killing him. His binding with the Wind Jade has permanently altered him, even though it is no longer in his possession. He retains the spiritual hardening and a few of the spells it granted, as far as I can tell; no human being on record has been known to cast some of the spells I espied in him. Brian has not shown any unusual magic (beyond its variety) since he claimed the Earth Orb, and so I can conclude that Zelse's exotic magics are artifacts of his tight bond to the Wind Jade. I am unsure of Brian intended to leave Zelse alive and subdued, but if I didn't know better, I would swear he knew we were following him.

He certainly knows of Nepty. Aura Scent picked up the smell of Glencoe Forest, including traces of the hellmouth there. We've lost track of her, I'm sad to say; she is underwater somewhere, tearing open the boundaries between the hell of water and ours, and the ensuing whirlpool of magic throws aside all of our attempts to scry into the sea. Brian must have seen where she reemerged; perhaps he has an idea where to look? I would have asked him, but he left before I could catch up with him. He is a force of nature, that boy; I almost pity our foes for drawing his ire. Almost. I don't know how they purloined the Fire Ruby--it most certainly wasn't that idiot murderer's doing--but I am certain it somehow ties in with the recovery of the Wind Jade. The Earth Orb and Water Crystal are unpleasant surprises; the other two and the theft of the Eltale Book are almost certainly malicious, timed in order to throw all the elements into disarray. One of the four would certainly be enough to bring ruin; all four and the Eltale Book almost seems like overkill.

A guess: whomever has acquired the Eltale Book intends to use it to control the elemental gems. Perhaps a harebrained scheme to create the "True Earth?" I doubt the Remakers have the coordination to arrange the theft of two gems and the Eltale Book. Beigis is again our prime suspect, especially with that devil spirit tamer in his employ and the mysterious Lady. I'm afraid that the Lady resists our scrying as much as Nepty. Like Guilty, she seems severed from the eye of terrestrial magic; unlike Guilty, she has no supply of people or objects sent her way to help us scry indirectly. If there is one person who could nudge such a series of disasters into unfolding all at once, it must be the Lady.

I am afraid there is little else to report. Some good news, if it helps: my black powder magics are successful beyond even our earliest estimates. There is a grim satisfaction in feeding a Wyvern a burst-shell and seeing it torn apart by shrapnel. They won't swing the fight our way, but once we fine-tune the art, we can export it to our allies. It will help them bridge the gap between conventional warfare and our own sort while still leaving them at our mercy; I know we wouldn't want to secede too much of our power in the name of friendship.

That is all I have to report for now. May the earth and water cradle Limelin in their breast; may the fire and wind scour our enemies from the earth.

Yours,
Leonardo Twice-Forged