Mud and Magic Ch. 15

Faedal's hand came up and blocked the staff from retreating. He stepped into Rhys, gently caressing the sorcerer's chest with the flat of his blade. The Armor spell fizzled. Faedal's gauntlet sank into Rhys' stomach and the sorcerer stumbled backwards clutching his gut, his staff clattering to the ground. Rhys blinked the tears away just as Elara flew past him, jaws wide open to tear Faedal's head off. Her bloodthirsty roar ended in a pitiful whimper when his gauntlet connected with her skull. She crumpled to the ground, no longer a murderous beast but an unconscious, naked elf.

"So much foreplay, so little actual fulfillment," Faedal snickered as he closed in on Rhys, sheathing his blade as he went. "You know what, boy? I'll keep you alive for now, just to see how much fun you'll be writhing on my cock. And to hear your impotent screams when I treat each of your friends like I treated your squealing little sister. Who shall I start with, hm?" His fist caught Rhys' shoulder, an almost loving tap which sent him staggering back. "The elf? The scaly one?"

Rhys' skin again turned silvery as he renewed his Armor spell. The next punch glanced off his chest with a metallic ring. "You will leave them alone," he snarled, grasping Faedal's fist with his open hand.

"You might want to put a little more back into your offense, boy," Faedal said mildly. He grabbed Rhys' wrist and levered. Suddenly, Faedal's foot was between his legs and Rhys tumbled through the air for a heartbeat before crashing onto his back with enough force to drive the breath from his armored body. Blinking away the tears and the ringing, Rhys looked past Haloryth's worried face. The tower was closer now but not by much. And now Elara's body was another factor to consider. Knowing my rotten luck, I'll only bury her under the tower. Groaning, he struggled back to his feet. Rhys shook his wrist and the dagger Galdor had given him sprung from the magical bracer into his grasp.

"The boy has teeth now. Or rather one tooth. Dwarven made?" Faedal charged him, leading with a quickfire barrage of fists which sent Rhys reeling. He managed a backhand slash with his dagger. The weapon carved an ugly scar onto Faedal's armor-plated stomach. "Definitely Dwarven. A nice souvenir even after you're dead," Faedal snarled, testing his armor with a slap. Rhys dove in recklessly, putting what little of Hagazz' knifing skills he had learned thus far to use. Each hit he landed carved a silvery streak into the armor, creasing the metal like cloth. Faedal stopped Rhys' momentum with a vicious slap to the temple and a shove to the chest, giving the fallen paladin room enough to wrest his sword from his scabbard.

"I think you made him mad," Haloryth moaned into his ear.

"I bloody well hope so," Rhys whispered. "Because we only have one shot at this." He flipped the dagger in his grip and, praying to Mercy, Lady Luck, Lord Justice and all other benevolent gods in earshot, threw the blade with every ounce of strength he had. Even before the weapon had cleared his fingers, his other hand went through the motions of a spell, adding a mighty push of force. The spell caught the weapon after its second spin and much like the pitchfork which had punched a gaping hole into the stable wall back home, the dagger punched a ghastly hole straight into Faedal's right shoulder, exiting in a shower of blood and bone fragments. The magic-eating sword fell from suddenly numb fingers.

For a moment, Rhys could see the wall on the far side of the courtyard through the flame-ringed hole in Faedal's shoulder. Then the blood poured forth, a thick, black sludge oozing from the fist-sized aperture, across the scarred armor.

Faedal laughed. He even offered a slight bow of respect. Then, he picked up his sword with his left hand and advanced on Rhys as if the horrifying wound in his body didn't exist.

Despite the gray skies above, the tower cast a shadow across the courtyard and Rhys used it to navigate, slowly moving sideways and away from the silent, black-clad monstrosity. He fervently hoped that none of Faedal's men felt especially ambitions and would shove a blade through his back.

Somewhere behind Faedal, perching atop the battlement they had teleported to, he saw Borna, her angelic face a mask of apprehension and fury framed by blood-streaked, feather-like hair. Her eyes followed each of his movements and her tail sliced the air in complicated, angry motions. He couldn't see where Celeste and Chassari were.

In the middle of the courtyard, Elara's golden tresses framed her prone, naked body, a shocking contrast to the packed dirt underneath. She's still too close, Rhys thought. Let's change that - without Faedal killing her.

"Don't tell me you're having the time of your life," Rhys said, pointing at the smoking, oozing hole in Faedal's shoulder. "Must hurt like hell, that hole there."

"Not nearly as much as what I will do to you for sport this evening, farmer boy," Faedal snarled. From one moment to the next, he was in arm's reach. His sword went through Rhys' Armor spell as if it wasn't even there and the cold steel pierced deep into his body. Laughing softly, Faedal withdrew the weapon and sent Rhys to the floor with a kick.

The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth and hot liquid spilled into his shirt from the stab wound in his abdomen. Rhys knew the pain and shock would be enough to floor him if he didn't act quickly. He heard halting applause and realized that the kick had sent him two, three feet backwards, between the first rank of soldiers. Not wanting to interfere with their lord's amusement, the men had cleared some space. Rhys shook out his wrist and the healing potion he had stashed on his bracer fell into his palm. He could feel his limbs trembling, knew the darkness at the edges of his vision wasn't the shadow cast by the tower but the harbinger of unconsciousness or death. With a titanic effort of will, he clamped his fingers around the bulbous bottle and brought it to his lips, tearing the stopper free with his teeth.

Faedal was close. Rhys could smell the stench of burnt flesh and cooling metal but Faedal wasn't interested in him right now. He had removed his right gauntlet and his hand was splayed over a screaming soldier's face.

The wounded sorcerer tilted back his head, pouring the bitter, clumpy liquid down his throat. Its effects were immediate. Rhys could feel his flesh and innards knit. The fringes of darkness receded just in time to see Faedal looming over him, sizing him up like Padec used to size up a freshly slaughtered sheep. Wisps of white dust surrounded him and the hole in his armor showed pristine, unbroken skin underneath. Before Rhys could come back to his feet, Faedal had him by the throat, effortlessly lifting him off the ground with his renewed arm.

"Any last words?" Faedal snarled. "I've had it up to here with your meddling, boy!"

Behind his furious opponent, Rhys saw Borna dive into the courtyard, her powerful legs easily carrying her to where Elara had collapsed. She cradled the unconscious elf against her chitinous breasts and leaped back up the battlement, easily evading the soldiers trying to attack her. Chassari felled two with arrows to their necks or faces before ducking back behind the parapet.

"Halo-ryth!" Rhys gasped, quickly running out of breath.

A heartbeat later, the elven spirit's consciousness joined his. "Are you done playing the hero now?" she asked, her voice torn between fear and concern. "If you die, I'll..."

"The tower. It must have been damaged when the pier blew up. Bring it down with me." Even in their telepathic exchange, Rhys sounded out of breath already.

"It will bury us all!" Haloryth snapped. "I will not help you kill yourself!"

"If you have any other idea how to kill Faedal, out with it. We'll be dead in a moment anyway, so we might as well drop the tower on him."

"You drop the tower," Haloryth ordered. "And I will make sure we won't die." She suddenly took control of Rhys' limbs. His hands came up and went for Faedal's face. The fallen paladin managed to swat aside one hand but the thumb of the other went in his right eye. Howling in pain, he dropped Rhys and stumbled half a step backwards. To Rhys it seemed as if his body was moving through molasses. Probably one of the side effects of being a passenger in my own flesh, he mused.

"Less open-mouthed amazement, more tower dropping!" Haloryth ordered. Controlled by the elven spirit, Rhys' legs kicked out, hitting Faedal straight in the chest. Rhys' body hit the floor and slithered backwards, the momentum only ended by a door held ajar on one hinge.

Rhys frantically gathered as much energy as he could. To his surprise, his right hand obeyed his commands and went through the motions he had trained so hard to perfect. His legs and left hand, controlled by Haloryth, got him back to his feet just in time to see Faedal press his hand to his face while flailing around for another soldier to drain.

"Just tear it down," Haloryth ordered. "I'll get us out of here as soon as you are done."

Rhys wanted to nod but his head didn't budge. Snarling inwardly, he envisioned the top of the tower, the cracks in the walls and how easy it would be for the old, withered stonework to follow the tug of gravity, crashing down into the courtyard. He rammed his hand high above his head, releasing the pent-up energy into the ceiling and the stones above.

Everyone, including the madly flailing Faedal stopped what they were doing and looked up as the tower began to growl like a wounded giant. Rhys recognized the sound of dozens, hundreds of stones coming unstuck, grinding against each other. As the first bits of brick and gravel pattered into the courtyard like rain, he saw Faedal stumble forwards, trying to reach the safety of the tower's interior.

Even if Faedal was impervious to magic, he wasn't impervious to the laws of nature. It took Rhys only a tiny fraction of his and Haloryth's combined power to shear the strained door hinge in twain. A quick flick of his wrist - the ring trailed plumes of burning energy behind it with every motion - and the door sailed from its frame, impacting Faedal with enough force to drive him backwards into the courtyard-, back into the ever-growing shadow of the tower coming down.

His left hand moved on its own again and the world went sideways.

* * * *

The impact shook the castle to its foundations. Parts of the battlements crumbled apart as Rhys appeared behind his friends. In front of him, the courtyard vanished in an impenetrable dust cloud as the top third of the tower buried anything and everything beneath its stony mass. He went to his knee and braced himself on the swaying ground, waiting for the Sorcerer's Burn to slam into him.

Nothing happened. His head hurt, his throat felt raw and chafed, the spot where Faedal had impaled him throbbed with the memory of the wound inflicted but no murderous pain erupted on his back. He dared to breathe again.

Haloryth floated in his peripheral vision, a proud smile on her lips. He saw Borna's lips move but he didn't hear any words. Elara joined him, her cloak around her shoulders and the Hand of Life in her fingers. She touched Rhys' forehead and the dull, woolen silence enveloping his head relented.

"... should be better now," he heard her say. The sound of heavy stones settling in the courtyard rumbled up to them. He squeezed Elara's hand in thanks.

"Is everyone all right?" Rhys asked, casting his gaze around. Borna knelt at the edge of the battlement, her tail at ease around her feet. Celeste was laid out on the ground, her face distorted in a mask of outrage. Chassari knelt beside her, looking up at Rhys.

"I had to sssend her to sssleep," the serpent-woman said softly. "When the tower came down, ssshe nearly ran into the courtyard... to sssave you."

"Or get herself killed for good," Borna added. "Utterly mad that one."

"What are you looking for down there?" Rhys asked, joining her. On his way, he clasped Chassari's shoulder. The kneeling assassin snuggled against his legs for a heartbeat.

"Faedal."

An icy claw closed around Rhys' chest. "Don't tell me he's still alive. Not after everything we threw at him."

"On him, you mean," Borna said, suppressing a chuckle. "I wouldn't put it past that bastard to come back from a few tons of rubble."

"I'll have a look, see if he's truly dead," Haloryth suggested. "A bit of stone hasn't been much of a hindrance for me."

"Please, by all means," Rhys said, unable to hide the hints of dread lacing his voice. Haloryth beamed at him before sinking into the stones at their feet. He paced the shattered battlement. We managed to stop him this once but what if it wasn't enough? What else can we do to put an end to him once and for all? What can I do? If a whole blasted tower isn't enough...

His gaze came to rest on the prone form of Celeste. What in the Pits happened to you? Rhys knelt down next to the unconscious form. And what are you wearing there? You didn't have that back at Thurguz' place.

The black collar was held in place by a thin metal clasp, hardly strong enough to put up any kind of resistance if a determined person were to try and pry it loose. He reached for it. The shadowy garment seemed to react to his presence, churning towards his outstretched fingertips.

"I have never seen a garment like this," Haloryth said close by. "And by the way it seems to sense your fingers, you would do well in keeping them away from it lest you intend to lose them."

Rhys shot her an apprehensive glare. "And what if this item is the cause for Celeste's odd behavior earlier? Maybe Faedal saddled her with it. Or Desire even."

"All the more reason to leave it on her for the time being. Who knows what kind of curse the person unlatching it will invite?" Haloryth shivered in an unseen breeze. "Wait until we're back at the Tower at least. Between Idunn, Thurguz and myself, we'll find out what this thing is supposed to do and how to remove it without killing anyone."

"Fine." Rhys rose to his feet and turned his full attention on Haloryth. "Did you find him?"

"Sadly, yes." The elven ghost pointed at one of the larger chunks of rubble, a corner piece of the tower which had survived the descent and impact mostly intact. "He's under there, badly hurt but alive."

Rhys exhaled slowly. "All right then. We'll deal with Celeste once Faedal is dead. Chassari and Borna, you're with me. I need your strength and litheness to reach him. Elara, please keep an eye on Celeste for me." He closed his eyes and concentrated, using his magical senses to find the dagger he had used against Faedal. Unlike the rusty old pitchfork, Galdor's gift had survived its enchantment and subsequent burial under the crumbling battlements unscathed. He pulled the dagger through the ether into his fist and placed it back on the bracer. His gut told him he would need the weapon sooner rather than later. With Chassari and Borna by his side and Haloryth floating ahead to point the way, Rhys returned to the ruined courtyard.

Thick dust clouds hung over the devastation like a funeral shroud, covering debris and corpses alike. Some large chunks of the shattered tower had impacted the ground with enough force to punch into the vaults below, turning the simple act of traversing the rubble into a perilous test of dexterity.

How could anyone survive this? Rhys thought bitterly as he passed a cluster of Faedal's soldiers, limbs and bodies strewn across the dirt by a man-high chunk of rock. He surveyed the carnage, listened for moans of the hurt and dying, but it was eerily calm save for the occasional crack when another piece of rock tumbled into the dungeons, throwing hollow echoes when it impacted the floors below.

"This is the place," Haloryth said, her slender, ghostly hand pointing at a large angular piece of debris. "He's under it, maybe five feet from here."

Rhys stared at the rock in disbelief. "I'm horrified someone is able to survive such a chunk falling on them." He took a deep breath. "Borna, once I move the debris, be ready to pounce on anything that moves. Chassari, cover us, just in case."

The crimson-plated girl shook her head. "Even if Faedal's alive, I doubt he'll be ready for round two." She fell into a fighting stance, her tail swaying high above her head. Chassari scanned the courtyard, bow at the ready.

His ring burned brightly as Rhys gathered energy around him, grasping the piece of the tower with magical might. It seemed much heavier than the whole tower had been, large and unwieldy and fighting his movement impulses. He managed to raise it off the ground until it hovered a good five feet. Grunting with the effort, he flung his hands forward, pushing the tower piece away from him until it rested near the castle's gatehouse. In a ghastly pool of his black blood was Faedal, his lower body crushed, legs bent in unnatural angles and his armor split asunder on his back. His head moved and his eyes found Rhys. A small smile tugged at the edges of his blood-smeared mouth.

"Ah," the fallen paladin gasped. "Came to make sure your little stunt got me, eh?" He coughed, thick black phlegm pouring from his mouth. "I've got to hand it to you, boy... you... you... really hurt me." His arm came forward, hand splayed open like a claw. With inhuman willpower, Faedal pulled his shattered body forwards.

"I should leave you like this," Rhys said softly. "To experience a fraction of the pain you inflicted on others." He was no healer but even he knew that Faedal, unless receiving aid from somewhere else, would not survive the hour. The injuries were too grievous, even for a magically infused monstrosity such as him. When he looked into Faedal's eyes, Rhys saw the same realization dawn on the fallen paladin.

Faedal groaned, despair and rage distorting his once stoic face as he tried to muster enough strength for another lurch towards Rhys. His arm gave out, leaving him sprawled in the blood-soaked mud.

For a short moment, Rhys felt pity for the broken, wheezing man in front of him. Killing him would be a mercy, a mercy Faedal didn't deserve. He should suffer for all the pain he had caused Mirrin and Dara and everyone else in the village. But leaving him here, to slowly die in agony, would only incur the risk of someone, maybe Desire herself, finding and healing him. Rhys had to make sure that did not happen. He had to ensure Faedal would never walk again, never rape again, never be a threat to anyone ever again!

Rhys knelt down next to the fallen paladin, trapping his twitching arm under a knee. He dug his hand into Faedal's mane and pulled his head back, causing the man to moan in agony.

"Mercy forgive me," Rhys said, "but there is no other way." He flipped the dagger in his grip and jabbed the dwarven-made blade into Faedal's eye with a swift, powerful strike. The broken man under him jerked one final time, one last ragged breath pushing blood from his mouth.

Rhys pulled the dagger from Faedal's eye socket and came to his feet. I should feel like a hero, he mused. I conquered the villain and avenged my friends, my sister. But all I feel is... nausea and fatigue. He sighed and took a few steps away from the corpse. His magical senses registered a sharp spike of energy in the vicinity. Rhys caught movement on the shattered keep, a curvy shape slithering behind the stump of the tower. Was that Desire, coming to reclaim her fallen champion?

Snarling, Rhys gathered fistfuls of energy around himself, turning them into blueish-white flames hot enough to instantly melt anything they came in contact with. He incinerated Faedal's corpse, praying that the unnatural spell resistance which had guarded him in life had dissipated after his passing. The stones underneath the corpse turned into boiling magma, the flesh caught fire and turned to ash, even the armor couldn't withstand the unbridled, fiery rage Rhys unleashed and vaporized under his magical onslaught.