The Archimage Wars: Wizard of Abal (3 page)

I dropped to the floor and ran for the
outer courtyard full of pillars; I figured my assailant might try
the same leap and come after me.

I heard the sounds of someone
scrambling over the stones back in the chamber, so I tried for even
more speed out of my legs.

There was blood soaking into the
material of my flowery shirt from the long, but thankfully, shallow
cut running across my ribs. I ran through hall after hall and
finally found the exit. Outside I saw a tourist bus waiting nearby.
Oblivious to my surroundings, I just wanted out of here, so I ran
onto the bus and found the driver lounging in one of the
seats.

“
Quickly, there are
terrorists killing everyone inside! We have to get to the police.
They’re coming to take the bus next!” I yelled in
Egyptian.

The man saw the blood soaking the side
of my tourist clothes and after gaping for a moment he leaped to
his feet. The driver looked out the window toward the ruins just in
time to see Stewart Hentan come running out, still clutching the
large wicked looking knife in his hand.

The bus driver cursed something about
some deity’s hairy balls then leaped into the driver’s seat and
dropped the bus into gear. We lurched away leaving a billowing
cloud of dust trailing behind.

I looked back as Stewart stopped and
watched us depart, and then I finally noticed the great Egyptian
Temple of Karnak, lit up against the dark sky behind
him.

Chapter Two

Little old lady got
mutilated late last night.

Werewolves of London
again.

-Warren Zevon

Now that I had time to contemplate the
impossibilities and madness I had just witnessed I started
seriously considering my sanity. To put it plainly, it is quite
possible I am bonkers. After a few more minutes to think, which is
not easy when your head is pounding like a pile driver, I decided I
would withhold judgment of my sanity until later. Why? Easy, no one
wants to think they are one sandwich short of a full
picnic.

This left me with the decision of what
to do next. I reached in my pocket for the piece of paper the puny
pigmy had given me. Upon opening the paper, I discovered a hotel
room key taped to the reservation slip. All right, since I did not
have any other pressing dates, I decided to head for the hotel. I
checked the other pockets of my ugly shorts and discovered a wad of
cash, 350 pounds.

First things first, though, I would
have to ditch this bus driver before I became mired up with the
Egyptian police. They would ask me many questions which I did not
have any answers to, and then probably lock me up for a few months
to see if that helped me remember.

I waited until we had entered the busy
portion of the city, then suddenly pointed into a thick group of
people at a marketplace. “Stop the bus! There are the
police!”

He laid on the brakes as if there were
a mother and baby carriage in front of the bus and I nearly pitched
out the front windshield. Luckily I managed to grab one of the
seats and hold on, though it hurt my wounded side.

He popped open the door and started to
get up, but I gestured for him to stay in his seat. “I’ll get them;
you mind the bus.”

The panicky driver nodded with wide
eyes and gripped his steering wheel tighter. I jumped out and moved
back into the blind spot in his side mirrors, then quickly faded
into the crowd. I wondered how long he would wait, but there was no
telling.

I stopped in a shop and bought a new
shirt and some soft cloth. They had a changing booth so I went in
and took off my old shirt and used it to wipe off some of the blood
from around the wound. It was in better shape than I expected; the
initial pain had made it seem worse. I used the cloth I had bought
as a kind of blotter against my side and put the new shirt on over
it to hold the cloth in place. This left a bit of a bulge on my
side, but on the other hand, at least I was not walking around like
a bloody mess anymore. I stuffed the old shirt in their waste
basket and went out to pay. I happily tossed the ugly tourist hat
and camera into the garbage can.

Outside the shop, I navigated through
a couple alleyways to another street and hailed a Taxi. As a
diversionary tactic I asked him to drive me to the bus station;
this way if the police checked with the cab drivers who had taken
fares in the area they would think I went there instead of to a
hotel. I paid the taxi driver from the dwindling cash in my pocket,
then once he was out of sight I took another cab, and this time
asked for the Novotel Luxor Hotel.

I found my room on the 4th floor and
entered cautiously, but I was alone. There was no sign of Pox. I
checked the closet and found clothes which seemed tailor-made for
me. There were suits, casual ensembles, even a tuxedo. In the
drawers were all the other amenities. Some cautious side of me
located the suitcase at the bottom of the closet and I found myself
packing everything. In the drawer next to the bed I found a leather
satchel, with shoulder strap. Inside I found a passport, American,
a wallet with credit cards and cash, this time quite a sum. All
were in the name of Nick Sivaeral. Interestingly, there were
pictures of me on the driver’s license and on the passport. Both
showed me with a sly smile, dark eyes peering out with that look of
someone who knows more than you do, and revels in it. I wish I was
half as cocky looking as the guy in those photos. I must have known
what the hell was going on in the world when those pictures were
taken.

I went to the mirror and gasped. I had
one of those colored Glyph tattoos on my left cheek, though mine
was a kind of shelled creature. I thought about it, and came up
with a word, it was like a nautilus shell. I looked back at my face
in comparison to the photos, but there were no glyphs there. I
figured I must have gotten the mark after these pictures were
taken. The pictures were definitely of me, and I did not seem to
have aged any since these were taken, I still looked around thirty
or so. According to the passport, I was thirty-three.

I decided to take a quick shower and
clean my wounded side. Before removing my shirt, I called the Bell
Captain and had him send up a boy. I negotiated with him and he
went off on his errand to buy some first aid supplies for me so I
could bandage myself properly after my shower. I removed my shirt
and under the dried blood I could see the long slice mark already
healed to a puckered looking scar. I only had a scar two hours
after being wounded? I knew of no one who healed this quickly. Then
I noticed the ring on my left hand, ring finger. It was mainly
gold, but there was also some copper and silver color. The shape
was a simple circle, without a stone, but it had an intricately
designed set of small rectangles going all the way around, each one
silver, copper or gold colored, like a little wall of metal bricks.
I didn’t remember putting it on when Pox gave me my clothes, so I
had to assume it actually belonged to me. I left it on.

After my shower, I put on a pair of
black slacks, a dark blue shirt and socks and shoes. Dressed,
though perhaps not ready for anything, I looked toward the closed
Hotel room door wondering if Pox had been something I imagined or
if he would show up soon. Then I remembered he’d said something
about ‘summoning’ him. I wondered if he meant by phone, but I
didn’t have a clue of what number to call. Then I muttered, “Damn
it, Pox, what am I supposed to do, wish you here?"

I leaped about a foot off the floor in
surprise when I heard his voice speak from behind me.

“
Greetings Master!” Pox
said in a gravelly voice.

I spun around, looking a little
foolish I am sure, and exclaimed, “Pox!”

“
The same,” he answered
with another patented toothy grin.

“
How did you... never mind.
I need some answers and I need them now! Some insane murderer
killed over twenty people and then tried to kill me for some
trophy! Then I shot the bastard and he didn’t die! His goddamned
clothes weren’t even damaged! What in the hell is going on
here!”

“
You cannot attack one of
sufficient Power from afar. Reality is theirs in direct proportion
to proximity unless guided by stronger reality,” Pox explained as
if his statement made perfect sense.

My headache, nearly down to a
manageable throb, returned to pounding agony in seconds. “That
makes about as much sense to me as this knife wound which has
healed to a scar in two hours!”

“
You have great Power,
great Élan vital. You must remember how to use it! She will help
you!” Pox promised.

I looked at my left hand and saw the
ring.

“
Is this mine?” I asked
holding up my hand to show the ring to Pox.

“
Oh, yes, Master, never
take it off. The ring was given to you by your mother, long ago,
Master.”

I had a sudden thought, and asked,
“What’s in this for you? Who are you? And why do you call me
'Master'?” I asked, suspicious of the helpful little
Troll.

He wrung his meaty looking hands
together and attempted another reassuring smile. “I have always
been your servant, Master, further back than memory. And now you
hold the strings to my soul.”

I scowled at his confusing
statement.

“
Master, if I might suggest
something?” he asked plaintively, giving a quarter bow of his squat
body.

Still aiming my scowling brows at him
I answered in nearly a growl. “All right, as long as you don’t say
anything to confuse me further.”

“
You have many enemies,
many who are jealous of your station. You need to reach a place of
safety soon where you can regain your skills, then become the
hunter instead of the hunted!”

I did like the sound of that. I needed
time to figure out this whole mess and regain my lost memory
without having to dodge UZI and knife-wielding killers.

“
Where do you suggest I
go?”

“
England, there you have
friends, who know much of the Power and can instruct you where I
cannot. ‘She’ is there.”

“
All right, friends, you
say? How do I get to these friends?”

“
Do you remember how to
Five Point travel?” Pox asked with a beady-eyed hopeful
look.

I shook my head; he might as well have
asked me to do the Chinese polka.

He shrugged his thick shoulders. “Then
it seems you must take mundane means of travel; perhaps an airplane
would be best. Your credit cards are all good; has she not taken
good care of you while you rested!”

“
She, who is this ‘she’ you
keep mentioning?” I demanded.

Then he grinned a smile which showed
very pointy teeth, “Fiona, a Second of House Albus, a friend, and
the one who has helped you while you healed. Had she not, you would
likely have fallen to a Hunter on the Ascension Quest.”

By Thor’s silly hammer, I wish I could
understand just ONE thing this little goblin spouted out with such
gusto.

But this was just one more question in
about a million, so I picked a different thing to ask, “How long
have I been, ‘resting’?”

“
Since the battle?” he
asked while he pondered a moment, “Twenty-four Earth
years.”

My mouth dropped open. “I’ve been
ASLEEP for twenty-four years!”

He nodded a definite nod. “Go to
Camington Castle, in the Wiltshire county of South West England.
The castle is near Salisbury. Once you get close, just follow your
feelings. Fiona Albus will be expecting you.”

My mouth was still hanging askew from
the surprise of knowing I had been in a coma, or something, for 24
years, so I missed the part about ‘follow your feelings’. There was
a knock on the door behind me.

Pox spun surprisingly fast for his
squat shape, and then hissed at me in an urgent whisper, “Are you
expecting someone?”

I suddenly remembered the bell boy,
and said, “Don’t worry, it’s only room service. I ordered some
first aid supplies to bind my cut.” I started toward the
door.

“
WAIT, Master!” he hissed
again. “They are looking for you, and if they know you were
wounded, perhaps...” he trailed off as I nodded catching his
drift.

I looked around the hotel room like a
trapped animal, as another knock came from the door.

“
The balcony!” Pox
suggested, pointing a long talon tipped finger.

I grabbed my packed suitcase and
quickly went to the sliding glass door and opened it. Outside I
found a small balcony with a substantial drop to the ground, which
did not look healthy. I checked to my left and right and saw that
the balconies from the rooms next to me were accessible if I was
willing to leap about a six-foot gap, which I was.

I tossed the suitcase over first, then
jumped up and balanced on the wall for a moment before leaping. I
landed in a crouch just as I heard the crash of a door breaking
open from the direction of my old room. Having only seconds before
whoever was after me found the balcony, I quickly tossed my
suitcase to the next balcony. I turned and kicked in the sliding
glass door with the hard heel of my shoe. There was a woman’s
scream from the room, but I did not stick around to admire her
pitch. In one bound I hit the top of the wall and leaped across to
the next balcony. I landed in a crouch and quickly pulled my
suitcase to me, then scrambled backward until I felt the cool
cement of the wall pressed against my back. I was now hidden from
anyone looking from either of the two balconies I had recently
occupied, I listened for my hunter.