Mud and Magic Ch. 12

"I've heard a similar word before, after we blew up the embalming room in the crypt by accident. Something about 'Keeping Waters?'"

"Gleir-lafas," Haloryth confirmed. "Yes. Nasty stuff. Keeps for centuries if the seals remain intact. Very volatile."

"I know," Rhys said with emphasis. "I think my ears are still ringing from that explosion. Now... what's Sal-lathas?"

The pitcher suddenly became rather heavy. Rhys nearly dropped it, spattering his floor with a fragrant liquid.

"'The Soothing Waters,'" Haloryth translated. "Or in short -- Dream Wine."

"You taught me how to make Dream Wine?" He sat down the pitcher and fetched a towel to clean up the mess he had made.

"No. I just taught you the command word for the pitcher. And a very old elven word on top."

"About that... How come I can suddenly understand Elven? Even speak it involuntarily?"

"I'm afraid that may be a result of my possessions. Once a spirit -- or demon, who are even better at possessions than we are -- vacates its host, it invariably leaves traces of itself behind."

"Does that mean you lost some of your memories when you left my body?"

"No, it's more like your brain retained some of mine. This process has not yet been fully researched but, from what I know, the memories left behind are rather scattershot and fragmented."

"That would explain the gaps in my vocabulary." He eyed the pitcher. "You would be horrified to know what swill my father drank from this vessel."

"Then spare me the horror." Haloryth circled around him. "You seem agitated. I hope I didn't keep you away from an emergency."

Suddenly very thirsty, Rhys slumped into the armchair. Of course he had forgotten to bring a cup or goblet and Sen hadn't brought any breakfast either.

He chuckled. Maybe it's time I put my newfound powers to the test. If I can summon dozens of arrows, how difficult will one cup be? Rhys forced his breathing to become steady and closed his eyes. He concentrated on the cabinet in the kitchen below, remembering where he had seen the drinking cups. With his free hand, he gathered strands of power and willed one of the cups into his hand. Cool metal brushed against his fingers.

Haloryth applauded. "That was flawless."

Rhys poured himself a cup of wine and drank. The liquid was cool and refreshing. And it again threatened to conjure memories, about how he and Mirrin had stolen apples from Old Man Harrol's orchard, how juicy and tart they were. He forced his mind back into the present.

"I didn't fancy another trek to the kitchen is all," he said, smiling weakly. "Shouldn't you scorn such a frivolous use of magic?"

"Magic is the sum of channeling elemental forces and lots and lots of repetition," Haloryth said. "The more you use it, the less you'll think about it." She critically inspected the cup. "Apparition magic is a bit more involved than alteration or energy manipulation and I'm happy to see you found a real-world application for it already which goes beyond fetching pointy sticks for grumpy archers who probably don't even understand the concept of gratitude."

Rhys chuckled. "Seems like Gael needs to work on his people skills some more. I don't begrudge his behavior. Before I found you and the ring, I was a worthless mageling, much too scared of my own power." He took another sip.

"In many ways, I still am." Rhys looked at the ring. One emerald mote shone bright and strong while others seemed to flicker on and off. "I mean, it's one thing to be responsible for myself, and another thing entirely to be responsible for what might happen to my friends if I should miscast one of the spells. Or what might happen if I can't contain the power and-"

Haloryth tried to touch his hand. A spot of warmth appeared on his skin.

"Learning when and what to cast is not unlike how a fighter learns to use his weapon. No sane swordsman would whip out a two-hander when in the midst of a pack of allies. Neither should a sorcerer drop a Fireball anywhere near his friends. You won't learn to control what you have been given unless you use it, explore its limitations and work within or around them." She fixed him with a thoughtful gaze. "And if it's any consolation, I'm here too. My abilities are restricted by being undead and incorporeal but, if all else fails, I can cut your connection to the Ethereal and act like your very own Disjunction Field."

"You mean you would snuff out my magic should it threaten to elude me?"

"That's the idea. The backlash might hurt something fierce though."

"Sorcerer's Burn."

"I hope my tutelage and your common sense will avert that particular headache," Haloryth said, grinning. "You might want to put a Healing Potion to your Wondrous Bracer though, just in case."

"I will talk to Galdor, our resident alchemist, about procuring one. But first, I need to do a little scrying. Any wisdom you might impart?" Rhys put his wine cup onto the table and rose. He took the empty wood bowl and filled it with water from the everflowing spigot in the bathroom. He carefully carried the bowl to his desk, swept maps and books aside and placed the vessel onto the stone surface.

"When you banished the Soul Trap to the depths of the Sword Divide, you already seemed rather proficient in the use of scrying magic. Not much more I can teach you," Haloryth remarked. "You need to have a clear destination in mind and enough power to draw on. A conduit item is always helpful but not necessary if you know your target well."

Rhys snapped his fingers. "There is one thing you could help me with. How can I deal with warded areas? The last time I accidentally scried a warded space, the backlash knocked me out for half a day. I'd like to avoid such a fate."

The elven spirit's grin was infectious. "You are one lucky spell-slinger, Rhys Ghost-Friend. Uncle Nel had developed a marvelous little cantrip called 'Nelearyn's Crown.' It catches and diverts harmful magic directed your way."

"How does it work?"

"It's rather simple," Haloryth said. "You create an elemental coil around yourself, with one end of the coil pointing into the Ethereal Plane. Any spell which hits it will be caught and most of its energy harmlessly diverted directly into the Ether."

"It sounds like Nel's Crown is the magical equivalent to the Armor spells I have been using. I don't know if I can keep it and a Scry active at the same time."

"That's why you place a duration on the spell and worry about your other tasks. The initial expenditure of power is bigger than for a concentration-length spell but you don't have to concentrate. Ready?"

"We can try."

"My apprentices do not try. They succeed. Now watch." Haloryth gathered magical energy around herself, so much that even the fire in Rhys' hearth threatened to die. Then she traced a spiral around herself, from her toes to up above her head where a gleaming pinprick of light seemed to remain. The other end was attached to the mass of energy she had collected.

"Now, throw a Fireball at me," the elven spirit ordered.

Rhys didn't hesitate. What little power remained in his hearth, he drew into a hissing and sizzling orb which he launched at Haloryth. The missile detonated but instead of ballooning outwards and scorching the room, the energy raced along the spiral she had traced, vanishing through the minuscule light above her head.

"Here in the Ether, the Fireball is still going," Haloryth said, her head following the projectile's trajectory. "And poof -- it's gone. Now it's your turn."

"Does it matter what energy my coil is made of?"

"Not for the normal version. You can eventually learn how to counter particularly nasty attacks by matching energy types but that's a lesson for another day. Or are you planning on fighting life-draining undead any time soon?"

Rhys made a sour face. "I could have used something like that a few battles ago, when I first met and nearly got killed by one of the Raghbaern."

"I am afraid that particular spell does very little against attacks or spells delivered by touch. For that, you would need a proper defense field, not a modified energy trap. But enough stalling already."

"Fine, fine. Just let me gather enough energy. The last thing I need right now is another case of Sorcerer's Burn." Rhys placed a few new logs into his hearth and set them ablaze with a burst of fire magic. He then gathered the renewed power source in his grasp and extended it around himself in a loosely wound coil. "How am I supposed to get the end into the Ethereal Plane?"

"Just pretend you're not pulling but pushing something through it," Haloryth explained.

The spell collapsed and the energy dissipated. "I think I need to work on that a bit more," Rhys said.

"Take your wine cup and teleport it away," the elven spirit suggested.

"I'm not sure Sen would approve if I disperse the drinking vessels across half the continent."

"You can bring it back afterwards -- unless it breaks that is."

Rhys weighed the bronze cup in his hand and memorized the details, how it resembled a flower petal growing from a slender stem. "Here we go," he said, imagining the kitchen table below. He gathered power and exerted his will. Instead of pulling the item towards himself, he willed the cup to appear on the table below. When he opened his eyes, the cup was gone.

"No hole in my wall," Rhys observed. "That's a start."

"Scry for the cup."

Rhys shook his head. "I've sent it back to the kitchen. Idunn told me that the whole tower is Scry-proof."

"Let me see." Haloryth vanished for a moment. When she reappeared, she grinned viciously. "Good wards, but not good enough. Let me." She touched the scrying bowl. An image formed, interspersed by some kind of interference.

Sen knelt next to Merrick, the cook. The man had been laid out flat on the floor and a nasty lump was forming on his bald head. The cup had rolled under the table, with a sizable dent in its side.

"Ahem." Rhys felt himself blush fiercely. "I should have aimed for the outside instead."

"He'll survive," Haloryth said, giggling. "Luckily, it will become easier since you don't have to specify a particular target when anchoring the coil."

"I should apologize regardless. And next time I should make sure there are no accidental targets in the way."

Haloryth canceled the scrying spell and fixed Rhys with another of her dazzling smiles. "I'm sorry for the cook but you should at least be able to push things into the Ether. Cast a Nelearyn's Crown for me, please."

Rhys repeated the steps to create a Nel's Crown, this time making sure to anchor the spell properly in the Ethereal Plane and link it to a node of gathered energy.

"I think I got it," he said, slowly turning within the oscillating coil. "It won't hinder movement or combat?"

"No. It will travel with you as long as it has energy to sustain itself. Now for the real test." Haloryth invoked a spell and a lance of incandescent energy shot towards Rhys. He raised his hands in reflex. A mild electric shock ran along his arms and legs but the brunt of Haloryth's spell had indeed been caught by the coil and harmlessly diverted. A moment later, the Crown fizzled and died.

"I still need to learn so much," Rhys sighed. "I thought that was enough energy for at least an hour."

"Not even close." Haloryth shook her head. "But don't fret. Even High Mages need years to fully grasp all the intricacies of duration-based magic. For your next attempt, at least triple the power intake. That should keep the coil up for at least a quarter hour."

"That would take every little power source I can sense around here," Rhys said. "How am I supposed to cast a Scry afterwards?"

"With your ring, you should be able to easily find more sources to tap," Haloryth said. "Don't be restrained by what your eyes can see."

Rhys closed his eyes and concentrated. Usually, when he drew magic for his spells, he only scanned his immediate surroundings. Wall to wall, floor to ceiling. Back in the Vasadil crypt, he had been able to tap some earth nodes buried deep below his feet, but they had practically begged to be used. Wait. There are such nodes here too -- far below the tower. How come I hadn't noticed them before? Did I not see them? Or have they recently been awakened? They throbbed with untold amounts of power, way more than he could ever hope to use without melting his brain. Rhys gathered the energy -- elemental ice -- and shaped it into another coil. One end he pushed into the Ether, the other end he linked with the mass of elemental cold by his side. He quickly walked to his nightstand in search of a conduit item. Celeste had given him a scroll of naughty pictures to learn from, some creams he still had no idea what to do with and a holy symbol of Mercy. And I promptly forgot about them when I came here. Rhys shook his head and picked the holy symbol. Let's hope it still works as a conduit.

He sat down at his desk. Now for the hard part. Finding Celeste. Tapping the ice nodes again, he gathered a sizable amount of energy. One hand touched the holy symbol, the other the makeshift scrying bowl.

Almost immediately, an image formed. A room somewhere. Gray stone blocks neatly stacked formed the walls. A slit-thin window let in the morning sun's first rays. The room was furnished but the shelves were empty. Chairs and a small table were placed haphazardly. The centerpiece of the room was a simple wide bed, a sturdy frame made from thick, dark wooden beams. And in that bed was Celeste. She was still asleep. During the night, she must have tossed and turned, for the sheets were crumpled around her and her cover had moved down to about waist level, leaving most of her body bare. She wore a velvet collar around her neck.

Zentam was right, Rhys realized. An invisible, icy fist suddenly clamped around his innards as his eyes found the clearly visible brand just above her gently heaving breasts.

Suddenly, her eyes opened and Celeste shot into a sitting position. Her gaze snapped towards the door and she pulled the covers around herself.

Rhys maneuvered the 'eye' to sit behind Celeste's shoulder, just in time to see the room's only door open. A dark-skinned, curly-haired girl entered, carrying a tray with food and drink. His own stomach growled in response. Rhys willed the distraction away and focused on what the bowl showed him. Celeste imperiously gestured towards the table and the girl -- probably a servant -- placed the tray before fleeing the room.

"Is that her?" Haloryth asked, at the edge of his perception.

Rhys nodded sharply. "I wish I could speak to her."

While he watched, Celeste slid out of bed, pulled the sheets around herself and sat down at the table. She carefully probed the food and sipped whatever had been poured into the large mug then dug in. She was obviously ravenous.

"She's definitely not there by her own volition," Haloryth observed. "See how she constantly glances at the door?"

Another nod. "Even I know that keeping someone naked makes an escape that much harder," Rhys muttered through gnashed teeth.

"As beautiful as she is, even disheveled like that, watching her eat won't help you save her. If that's what you're after."

"You're right." Rhys moved the 'eye' towards the window and squeezed the magical sensor through the narrow slit. He maneuvered the 'eye' into a slow loop around Celeste's location. She was held in the singular tower of a small fortress which clung to a craggy cliffside like a desperate mountaineer to a sheer rock face. Old, uneven walls surrounded a handful of small buildings while the tower grew from the main keep like an extended finger from a fist.

The gatehouse faced a large crater lake, the waters ominous and dark, halfway shrouded in shadows and fog, halfway transformed into a gigantic mirror by the low-hanging morning sun.

As he watched, Rhys noticed movements atop the gatehouse and keep. Soldiers were taking down Carver's notorious goathead-and-axes banners.

"Mysterious, mysterious," Haloryth whispered. "Whose place might that be?"

"And where might it be?" Rhys wondered aloud. He had the 'eye' return to Celeste's room. The moment he had squeezed it back through the slit-like window, he saw Celeste come to her feet. She grabbed the chair she had been sitting upon and retreated to the furthest corner of the room. Rhys yanked the 'eye' around so that he could see what Celeste had seen.

The door had opened again. But this time, there was no simple servant entering the room. Wearing black clothing and an almost friendly smile, Faedal crossed the threshold, a bundle of fabric under one arm.

"Is that the man who hurt you?" Haloryth asked, a tone of awe in her voice.

"Me and so many others," Rhys confirmed. "What is he doing?"

"Giving Celeste a bit of privacy to dress," Haloryth said. In the bowl, the door closed and Celeste snatched up the clothing Faedal had provided. She looked at unblemished white robes in utter disbelief. With a look of disgust on her beautiful face, Celeste wound a loincloth around herself, wreathed herself in the robes and tied them with a blue sash. She snapped a word Rhys couldn't hear and the door opened again. Faedal strode into the room once more and claimed a chair. His whole demeanor was wrong. He exuded an air of politeness so utterly unlike anything Rhys had ever experienced in Faedal's presence. Celeste visibly struggled against her own instincts.

After repeated gestures and a seemingly unending string of words, Celeste took up a chair and set it down on the opposite side of the bed, staring at Faedal with unbridled revulsion and anger. And again, Faedal simply talked.

"Is he using some form of magic on her?" Rhys asked, his concern and confusion mounting. "Isn't there anything I can do to help her?"

"I think he's just talking. I don't see anything resembling spellcasting gestures. Nor do I see him grasping anything which looks like a holy or unholy symbol."

"Why would they talk? I don't understand!" Rhys sought Haloryth's calm gaze. The bowl went blank and he cursed, his concentration well and truly broken. "Can you teach me how to communicate over long distances?"

"I could," Haloryth said. "The necessary spell is part of the 'remote sensory projection' family. Whereas Scry allows you to manifest your optical sense in a remote location, Message allows you to do the same with your speech and hearing. And the capstone of that particular family allows for hearing, sight, smell, speech and even touch across vast distances. It's called Spirit Walk and you might be powerful enough to learn it soon."

"Great. How do I do it?"

Haloryth raised a cautioning hand. "I said I could teach you the spell. I didn't say I will. The issue with Message and the outgoing signals of Spirit Walk is that everyone in the room will hear you."

"Oh."

"You don't want to alert him to your presence, do you?"

Rhys shook his head. "Of course not." He reached for a blank scroll and his writing implements.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure I won't forget anything we've learned just now. I want to be prepared when I talk to Thurguz and Idunn. No more impulsive suicide missions." Rhys gingerly touched his knee. "Mercy knows I've had enough of that already."

* * * *

The sound of tearing flesh and breaking bones woke him. Carver sat up and winced. The room reeked of sex and death. To his left, Matron Dree'vex was a curvaceous shadow against the blood-spattered sheets. To his right was Marissa, a lewd smile on her crimson lips even in her sleep. The noises came from the farthest corner of the room, opposite the bed and bathtub. The Living Remembrance huddled in a corner, chewing on a dead dark elf's remains. As if I haven't sinned enough already, he thought, a twang of remorse tugging at his innards. The memories of the past night were... nebulous. Fleeting images of him spearing his aching manhood into yielding flesh, his own body being violated by something Matron Dree'vex had done to him...