A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) (16 page)

He could see that it didn
’t have wings like the dragons of legend, a notion that made him question what the nature of the creature exactly was. The sharp eye ridges and even sharper looking spines that traveled the length of the backbone gave it a feral appearance. Laying the creature down on his cloak, his eyes took in the rest of it.

The pseudo dragon was about the size of a large cat, the one muscular arm was bent awkwardly, continuing downward to taper off into a strong hand that ended with wickedly edged claws. Now that he focused, he could see the breathing came ou
t rough and ragged, like a half sigh.

The swordsman worked for a sweat inducing quarter hour. He was hardly an expert healer, but for once he was grateful that his father had insisted on teaching him such things in case of emergencies, though he was not en
tirely sure how applicable it was to the creature that lay before him.

A quick tear of one of his sleeves and a nearby branch provided a workable makeshift splint, so most of the effort went into making sure he had set the bone correctly.

The little beast was stoic during the time, taking the blonde swordsman's ministrations with little to no complaints. After he was sure he had set the arm right, Jared gently probed the animal's side, and the way the animal drew breath made him worry that something else must have been injured.

The scales were not rough like he expected, but were instead surprisingly soft and yielding to the touch. Yet they still managed to rustle softly when the beast shifted weight. After a few minutes of deliberation, his initial fears we
re realized. Broken or cracked ribs
.

It was a complicated mess, and it was one that his meager training hardly addressed. His father had only taught him how to tend to minor injuries that one might expect on the road, but this was a job for one of the peop
le from the Healer guild. Jared sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to work out what to do. The entire time, he could feel Marcius's stare and his hopes weighing on his back. He didn't want to let his friend down.

"Look, Marc, I think you
r pet needs help that I’m not qualified to give. I'll do what I can, but we should take him to someone from the Healer guild after this. At best I can only do a temporary fix." His hands trembled as he went to work.

Marcius nodded his affirmation, he under
stood. It went a long way to relieving some of the pressure Jared felt. "Faerril is my familiar. . . " Marcius corrected. "Please, do what you can," Marcius added, his voice quiet.

Well, that explains a lot
, Jared thought to himself. Jared knew familiars were important to wizards, but the exact implication was something he could weasel out of Marcius later. With a mental shrug and a deep steadying breath, he pushed it out of his mind.

It was tedious and straining, several times he thought he might have mess
ed up, but eventually, Jared managed to do what he considered a satisfactory job.

It would suffice till they got back to town. He stood up and stretched, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on his face, glad that the worst was over. Now the only thing t
hat was needed was something to carry the familiar. He figured the blanket that he had in his pack would do well. He stood and started toward the clearing when Marcius's hand stopped him.

"Jared, where are you going?" Marcius's voice came out in a half pan
ic, he was hovering protectively over the creature, which had fallen into a peaceful slumber.

"Going to get my pack, I left it the other side of your Master's clearing. It has a blanket which we can use to carry him as we go back home."

"Why?" Jared stared at Marcius dumbfounded. Sometimes his friend was so oblivious to situations.

"Marcius," Jared started patiently, speaking slowly like a parent to a child, "We can't stay here, we have little food, and whatever or whoever did this could return. And your fa
miliar needs help that I can't give. We must go back to town."

"But
. . . " Marcius glanced nervously back to the clearing, as if torn. Finally, Jared understood. It was so simple and perhaps a bit infantile.

"Look, Marc. Your master is gone. There is no po
int in clinging to something just because it is comfortable to you. Let's go back and we can decide what to do from there, ok?" He said it as soothingly as possible, but made sure to enforce that he wouldn't take any contradictory answer.

Marcius nodded ha
lf-heartedly, not looking totally convinced. Jared warily let his friend there, watching over the sleeping familiar, and hurriedly made his way back to get his pack, the events that had just occurred at the forefront of his mind.

Finding the brown backpack
where he left it, he slung it over his shoulder and headed back to rejoin the brown haired apprentice. Suddenly a commotion from the forest stole his attention. Marcius came bursting out, barely managing to keep himself upright as he stumbled out of the thick underbrush that outlined the forest. He had a wild look to his features, as if he had just seen a ghost. Jared inwardly cursed his luck as he sprinted the remaining distance.

"Jared!" Marcius shouted as the blonde swordsman arrived. "I know what happe
ned!"

"Wait!" he shouted right back, grabbing Marcius's arms in an attempt to calm the apprentice down. "What are you talking about?!"

"Faerril showed me what happened!" Marcius seemed between elation and tears, as if he was confused with which emotion was appropriate. Jared decided to forget the obvious follow up question on exactly
how
the little creature managed to show his master the events that transpired.

It was probably magic anyway, far beyond his league to comprehend. Also, in his haste, somehow Ma
rcius had forgotten his familiar. Jared ignored the strong habit to roll his eyes at the lack of forethought his friend displayed at times, it really wasn't appropriate considering what had just happened. Instead, he sat Marcius down on a grassy patch below a nearby tree, hoping it might calm him. Taking out the blanket, he entered the forest and brought the familiar out to the clearing to join them.

"Alright, Marcius," Jared said as he laid the dragon-like familiar carefully at the apprentice's feet, "Tel
l me what happened." He wanted to hurry back home and sort things out there, but his curiosity needed to be satisfied. He joined Marcius, resting his back against the tree as he stared at his friend expectantly.

❧　❧　❧

"Master, why does everything you teach me seem to be about fighting other wizards?" Marcius said in the half whine of someone not expecting a real answer, but was complaining nonetheless.

Antaigne, for the entire morning, had been drilling into his young a
pprentice the importance and difficulty of quick cast spells. Like a snake coiled and ready to strike, a quick cast spell could be called upon in a moment’s notice, completely bypassing most counter spell attempts.

The only problem, as Marcius had found as
he practiced, was holding the energy and form of the spell. It was like trying hold a portcullis up and be nonchalant about it. The worst part was that it the more complicated the spell was, the more difficult it was to make it quick cast.

The spell Marci
us was practicing could barely be considered more than a simple can-trip. Antaigne assured him it would get better as he got used to it, and eventually he would be able to hold the spell in the back of his mind for days on end. Marcius didn't really see that happening anytime soon, however.

"It be quite simple, ye smart ass lad," Antaigne said gruffly, brushing a imaginary fleck of dust off the black robes he decided to wear this day. "Live by ye sword, ye will die by ye sword. Trust me when I say that ye b
e in our world now, it be best fer ye to take precautions."

Marcius nodded, chastened, he went back to his practice.

It was a hot day, but inside the cottage it was cool and comfortable, another testimony to the now obvious enchantments put forth by the dwarf. Nether sight had opened up so much for Marcius. When he tapped into it, he could see the gentle swirl of magic the permeated the air, the very fiber of the building and the world around him.

Many nights he stayed awake far longer than he should have,
just watching the entrancing ballet of energy play out in front of him. Words could not express how happy he was at this moment, exploring territory he had never even imagined. He often wondered what he must have done to be blessed like this.

He worked on
the technique for several hours, but made little headway. It felt as if there was an invisible wall blocking him in his attempt to master it. His master watched the entire time, silently observing the trial, offering a few tips here and there.

Marcius real
ly hated it when the dwarf did that. He always felt as if he had to meet his master's expectations then and the watchful eye added a lot of pressure. He was just about to ask to take a break when he noticed a change in his master's demeanor. The dwarf hastily stood up, straining as if to hear something that only he could sense.

"Master
. . . " Marcius began, a tad bit alarmed. With a single upraised hand, Antaigne silenced him, still listening intently.

Antaigne finally turned around, a fire lit in hi
s eyes that Marcius had never seen before. He seemed excited. “"Sorry 'bout this Marcius, but it be not fer you” Marcius had no time to react as the dwarf made a simple pass of his hands. Marcius's eyes became heavy and he struggled to keep them open.

"”
W-why?" he managed to mumble as his feet gave way, his knees buckling, pitching him face first to the floor. The last thing he saw was Antaigne's wizened face looking apologetically down at him.

❧　❧　❧

". . . and that is what I remember." Marcius finished with a small sigh
.

He watched as his friend took a few moments to digest what he said. "Alright, what about afterwards? You said that your p-
. . .
familiar
. . . somehow told you what happened after?"

It seemed
to Jared as if Marcius's tale opened more questions than it answered. Hopefully Marcius could tie up all the loose ends.

"Faerril isn't old enough to
tell
me what happened." Marcius must have seen Jared's questioning look, but he plowed on before the swordsman could ask it. "He showed me what happened with paintings."

"Paintings?"

"Yes, in my mind. His memories. I can see them." Marcius sighed. "It's the only way that I can explain it. He must have been waiting until I found him, so he could show me what happened."

Jared nodded, not fully understanding, but taking his friend's word on it anyway. "Well, tell me what you saw."

Okay, after he used the sleep spell on me. . . "

❧　❧　❧

The stocky figure of a dwarf was mere silhouette in the
door. Eight other figures, some on the ground and a few hovering gently in the air, caught the attention of Marcius's sleeping familiar. They wore red and white matching robes. The colors of the Academy.

The dwarf stepped out from the shadows and his face was dar
k and serious. The two groups approached each other respectfully.

Words, garbled and incoherent to the Faerril who had hidden himself on a nearby branch, were exchanged. They seemed cold, methodical. This was business. They struck fast and without warning,
spells were flung; fire, ice, even things that Marcius did not recognize, flew through the air. But what he did notice, the men, hooded and unrecognizable, were being foolish. The spells hit an invisible barrier that surrounded Antaigne, fizzling instantly. This dwarf was not caught as helpless as his assailants thought!

The nether swarmed around Antaigne, heeding his call, forming his will. The lion's head door knocker answered his summons and sprung to life, straining itself from the door like it was stu
ck in mud, each heave was punctuated with an ear splitting roar. A few seconds later, a full body emerged and it grew. Larger and larger, until it towered above the participants. The ruby red eye glowed as it struck immediately, a whirlwind of silver fury amidst the calm, flashing in the midday sun.

The dwarf continued to cast, dodging or absorbing the various quick casts the eight, obviously wizards, threw at him. His fingers move with inhumane speed through the sigils, and he muttered the incantations jus
t as fast.

The lion was a golem, an inanimate object enchanted with mimicry of life and the will to serve; it brought devastation within their ranks. They had not expected such a quick response. They already lost two of their members. One fried by a reflec
ted firestorm, another still quivering, torn open and left to die by the lion.

The momentum was shifting though. The dwarf had lost his advantage of surprise. They might have underestimated him at first, but the attacks were more measured now, not overexte
nding in an attempt at a quick kill.