Fan Fiction ❯ Summoner ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

Chapter 5

 

 

A number of water-workers were clustered at the makeshift harbour that made up the escape route from the recluse. One large boat with a blue sail, darkened wood and holes in the side with oars protruding. Fillip approached with Nix slung over his shoulder and surveyed the scene.

 

“Is this it?” He asked, counting no more than a dozen water-workers and a pair of newer recruits, a pair of scouts.

 

“Yes, Master. The rest are going to mount a gradual fall-back until they reach the Library, then retreat down here after sealing the entrance.”

 

Fellip frowned. No good.

 

“They reached the Great Library already, the entrance is sealed and nobody else is left alive. We need to leave. Now.”

 

There was a shocked silence, until Fellip repeated his imperative, and the others jumped to action. The remaining soldiers that were still alive, defending the great library, the last records of the race of men would die for a worthy cause, their sacrifice was necessary for the survival of the Summoner. He'd understand one day, and he'd thank the Elementals for their contributions to their survival. Such thanks would involve special privileges, naturally.

 

Grimly, he spared a final look over his feathery shoulder before stalking up the boarding ramp.

 

 

-=[]=-

 

 

Captain Grody fought grimly on, his elite cadre of hand-picked warriors cleaving through the mass of Elf shock-troops, pushing them back through the winding corridors to the atrium. The scene in there was a mess. Obviously a Water-worker had fought, and the mass of corpses crowding the room. However, one form's chest was rising and falling steadily - Carver's.

 

With a final surge of effort, the last of the elves were driven off at least temporarily, but more would be coming, and it was only a matter of time before they loosed the swarm bats on the tunnels. He quickly scooped up Carver's form and grimaced - the boy was heavy, a strong physique packed into 6 feet of body would doubtlessly way a fair bit.

 

“We can't get out via the tunnels, we can't get out via the main entrance, that leaves one option.”

 

“Sir, you can't be serious-“

 

“Deadly serious. Ready the charges, we're going to blow our way out.”

 

 

 

Nix awoke lying face down on a soggy strip of marshland. There was a dense fog about him, interspaced by jutting obsidian columns and twisted, leafless trees. On each of the columns he was dimly aware of a strange inscription written in a tongue he'd never encountered before and from the looks of the sharp, complex little glyphs, he was in no hurry to either. Slowly, unsteadily he stood.

 

How in God's name did I get here? He wondered, taking in more of his surroundings. Although he couldn't see them, he could hear the distinct flap of birds wings and an eerie call echo about the area, which seemed to be walled off from the rest of the world, as the air was still - there wasn't a single breeze.

 

The sound of footsteps padding towards him made him spin about, and as if materialising from the mist walked an old woman wearing simple brown robes, the hood down low over her face so her eyes were hidden. Her skin was pale and wrinkled horribly, telling of a lifetime of toil, but the her hair was braided into two distinctly strong strands, one each side of her head. She seemed to regard him for a moment before speaking

 

“Find what you're looking for amongst the damned?”

 

“Who are you?”

 

“I am like you” she replied “a being displaced by the conflicts that have blossomed across this world.”

 

“What's your name?” he tried, hoping for a more straightforward answer this time.

 

“I am called many things, but names, like titles, can be discarded at will. However, for now you may call me Braya.”

 

“I'm Nix” He supplied helpfully.

 

“Indeed” She commented, a touch of dry humour in her soft, age-cracked but compelling voice. Abruptly, Braya looked over Nix's shoulder and for an instant he could see her eyes, the lightest green he'd ever seen on a person.

 

“It seems we have less time than I anticipated and our adversaries are many. Come.”

 

This threw the mage. He turned and looked behind him where she was staring, but could see only fog and definitely couldn't hear anything.

 

“What's the hurry?”

 

“Now is not the time for such conversations; we must seek shelter amongst these tombs and wait for the threat to pass.”

 

She turned and headed back from where she'd come, and Nix, not eager to be left alone in what he now realised was a graveyard, followed closely. She wound her way through the twisted dead trees and large obelisks following an indistinct trail that seemed almost completely random, before out of the murk appeared a large tomb entrance, ornate in decoration that upon its construction would have been grand indeed, but the ravages of time had soon taken it's toll on the soft stone. Now it was crumbling, half-covered in creeping ivy, and long since robbed of any of its majesty. Above the entrance were the words “Tyllan's Rest”, this time in the common language he could understand.

 

Without pausing the old woman passed the threshold and snatched a wooden pole from its resting place just inside. She clicked the fingers of her free hand and the end of the pole sparked a fire, lighting their way further into the tomb. They hurried down some steps and with a wave of her hand, the large stone doors before them shuddered open.

 

Into a softly lit treasury.

 

Dotted about the large chamber were numerous sculptures on pedestals, boxes bulging with treasures far too numerous to catalogue. On the walls hung tapestries and paintings framed in ornate gold, all of which were faded and coated with dust. There was another door at the far end of the room, but this was far less ornate and was almost unnoticed amidst the countless treasures and artefacts that dotted about the place.

 

“We should be safe for now. Tell me, Summoner, why you were resting in a graveyard.”

 

“Truthfully, I have no idea. I know I was knocked out in a recent fight but beyond that I can't remember anything. Why are you so afraid of the elves?” He countered.

 

“Afraid?” Her tone was mocking and incredulous “I have nothing to fear from those `hunters'. You, however, are not ready for such drawn-out conflicts.”

 

Nix grinned proudly “I'm a water worker.”

 

“And such a skill is not to be wasted toying with mundanes” she rejoined “Your true potential lies in communing with those who transcend the mortal realm; you harness the power of the spirits.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“I may be old, but I'm not blind. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice, sense your aura is destined for greater things than I could possibly hope to achieve.”

 

Nix was subdued, shocked. “How could you possibly see that?”

 

“I'm not inhibited by restrictions of `sight' that plague mankind.”

 

“You're not human”

 

She smiled faintly, a wholly unpleasant image, Nix decided. “I am an elemental.”

 

“I know an elemental, named Fellip. Do you know him?” Nix inquired, suddenly remembering that Fellip was the last person he was with. He wondered what had separated them.

 

“Do you know every man in your race?” Braya asked mildly.

 

“Fair point.”

 

The old woman again looked up, this time almost directly above them and paused for a moment, as if in thought.

 

“Our pursuit is more tenacious than I previously thought” She commented as if discussing the weather “Go into the catacombs; I shall be along presently.”

 

Nix barked off a laugh “you think I'm going to leave an old woman to fight a unit of Elf Warlock hunters?

 

Braya smiled again, looking directly at the Water-worker. “I am far from defenceless. Seek an alternate escape route through Tyllan's bowels. I shall join you on the other side.”

 

Nix finally nodded and quickly headed through the other door, closing it behind him. Braya slowly turned around, just in time to see an Elf Commander rush in. He was dressed in a flexible lightweight crimson body-armour and had a red and blue headband around his forehead, bearing the mark of the royal guard. In one hand was a large cross-spear, the other was gloved and more heavily armoured, evidentially it was used as a makeshift shield. He was flanked by 4 elite troops in identical armour, only they sported elaborate masked helmets with faces of pure white. Each held a double-bladed sword with a grip in the middle.

 

The Commander sneered upon seeing her.

 

“Your Magics won't work against me, scow.” He warned, pointing the tip of the spear at her.

 

“Be that as it may, they will work against them.” Braya countered before jutting her armed out at the nearest two. Her fingers worked the air for a fraction of a second, then the guardsmen were flung back, bouncing hard off the far wall. The other three moved in, but with a sweep of an arm Braya instantly dropped a cloud of pure darkness around them all. Confused shouts echoed throughout the room, but the Elemental ignored them completely. With another wave of her hands, unseen by the Elves, she cloaked herself in an impenetrable spell that effectively rendered her invisible to those in the cloud and backed slowly away, silently moving towards a column. She sank down, kneeling before the support and gradually allowed the cloud's lack of light filter away, giving them vision once more.

 

Only the Commander could still see her.

 

Braya cursed silently, and concentrated harder. The next part of her attack was incredibly complex and couldn't be rushed. Getting a telekinetic hold of three short swords, she yanked the weapons from the various points about the room she'd scattered them, and sent the blades hurtling at the Guardsmen. Two of the troops were able to bat the deadly projectiles away; the other hapless soldier got stabbed through the unarmoured neck. He dropped to the floor coughing and hacking.

 

The commander rushed her, spinning the cross-spear into a high overhead slash. She was up in a second, but hadn't the time to dodge, her back was against the column. Again the blades came hurtling in, all three at the commander, but in a display of incredible competence with the weapon, was able to deflect all three. He came in with a horizontal slash at her head, which she couldn't dodge. The blade slashed through both her eyes and the bridge of her nose, spraying blood across the floor and down her face in a grizzly mask of pain. Letting out a cry of pain and anger, Braya fell to her knees, both of her hands coming to her ruined eyes.

 

Her fists then clenched, and from the empty sockets came a harrowingly bright glow. She turned her gaze on the three remaining guardsmen, evaporating them instantly. The commander let out a yell and dived out of the way, barely dodging her burning line of sight. He scrambled from the tomb and soon after the glowing ceased, leaving Braya weeping without tears.