[Mkguild] The Illusive Chain (6/?)

[azariahwolf at gmail.com]

Link 2: Deliverance 

The sun had set hours before the last torch was extinguished and the occupants of the room left the ermine to his rest.  They had made no progress as every poke and prod, whether from Balrog or Lucy, had revealed nothing more than what they could see at the surface.  They had continued their work well beyond the point of exhaustion, but they had finally been forced to admit defeat.  They hoped, perhaps vainly, that they could find the missing piece in the morning.

Nathan followed Balrog at a distance as the man walked slowly through the halls.  The human scratched at his chin and twirled the braids of his beard around his thick fingers.  Nathan was unwilling to shatter his contemplation in most cases, but he had detected something in his friend’s manner that made him decide to violate that tendency.

“You have an idea, don’t you?” he asked pointedly.

Balrog turned halfway, still walking, as though he had forgotten that he was not alone in the halls.  After seeing his commander he turned his attention once more to the path of his feet.  “I did not see anything foreign amidst the weaves of the spell,” he replied.

“That is not the answer to the question I asked,” the wolf noted.

Balrog sighed heavily.  “You read me too well, my friend,” he admitted.

“And you avoid the point like the—like a priest avoids a brothel.”  Nathan winced at how near he had come to making a comparison in bad taste.  Balrog clearly detected his change of direction, but he was not inclined to mention it.  He had other inclinations.

“They do?”  He snickered.  “I’m happy I never considered the occupation.”  Nathan was about to deliver a scathing retort when his companion raised his hand to forestall him.

“Yes, I am avoiding the point.  You are, of course, correct.”  He sighed as he made the admission, but continued on.  “Although I cannot see any evidence of tampering in the curse, the effects are clearly identical to those of a fetish stone.  I would surmise that the shaman attempted to cast the spell held within the stone as a last defense, evidently a successful measure.  My only questions are how it worked, and why there is no evidence of it afterwards.”

“No progress on those answers, presumably?”

Balrog sighed with a shake of his head.  “Logically, there should be no way it would continue to function.  A fetish stone should be necessary as fuel for the spell, or the worst that Lois should have experienced would be a momentary disorientation.  Much like a pyrock must be present to sustain a magical blaze when a mage is not present, the fetish stone needs to be present or the effects of the countercurse would reassert themselves immediately.”

Nathan shrugged.  “Well, as you said, a pyrock is needed to magically sustain a fire spell, but only fuel and air are necessary for a fire to spread after the spell has been cast.  The actual spell may be gone, but the fire itself could continue.”

Balrog stopped in his tracks as his commander spoke.  He turned with an odd look on his face.  “Sir, that is a fascinating comparison,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice.  “’If fuel is present…’  What sort of fuel could this spell consume, though?”  He shook his head, pacing the short distance from one wall to the opposite in contemplation.

“Well, as fire burns wood, so magic burns mana, or so I’ve heard.  Perhaps he was simply near enough to a magic nexus for the additional mana to further the spell?”

“No.”  Balrog shook his head and increased his pace.  “If that sort of thing could happen, any spell cast near Metamor would have the same inexplicable properties.  Using a nexus requires conscious effort, and if this was a dying last defense as I have postulated then he wouldn’t have had the time to perform something that complicated.”  He paced a few more steps before turning to look at the wolf.  “Keep talking, though.  You have at least made some interesting observations.”

Nathan shrugged.  “I think I played my trump too early, I can think of no theory more suitable.”

Balrog chuckled quietly, slowing his pacing as he turned back towards the black wolf.  “There is something there, I think.  At the very least, it gives me a place to start.”  He sighed.  “You are correct about one thing; mana is the fuel for magic.  How this bears significance is the elusive point.”  He shook his head and kicked at the stone of the floor in annoyance.  “Unfortunately, I don’t think that pacing around the area is likely to provide us with the answers.”

“We can try again tomorrow,” Nathan advised.  “I think Victor has been left to his own devices for a little bit longer than I would generally advise.  I would like to check on him before it gets too much later.”

Balrog nodded.  “I hope he has found the baths and a good meal or two.  And, hopefully, he has managed to keep himself calm.  The plague certainly had him shaken this morning.”

Nathan nodded.  “I often miss them, but times like these I am happy that my family stayed in the Midlands.  It gives me less to worry about in the meanwhile.”  He waved to Balrog and continued down the hall.  “Come; let’s go find Victor and get some rest.  Perhaps the answers we need will come to us over the night.”

Balrog stood still for a few more moments, but he finally nodded and followed after his patrol commander.  The two of them were already under suspicion from Lois’ patrol.  Even if he thought he had some revelation about the spell which his friend was suffering, returning tonight would only result in more suspicion, if not outright hostility, from their hosts.  He would have to renew his efforts in the morning.

At least he had been able to maneuver around Nathan’s probing for now.

*	*	*

Victor had managed to fall asleep before their arrival by some miracle.  It was clear by the chaotic state of the bedding, however, that his was not a restful sleep.  His face twitched back and forth from fear to rage and back again, never seeming to resolve itself as though even he had no clear idea how he should feel.

Nathan shook his head in concern for the younger scout, but he had no power over dreams to be able to aid the young man in whatever internal struggle he was facing.  He silently gave Balrog a friendly pat on the shoulder, and left to go to his own bed across the room.  Balrog nodded to his commander, but turned to watch the boy for a few moments more.  He could barely imagine the thoughts that tainted Victor’s dreams this evening.

Victor continued to toss, occasionally muttering in his sleep, raising and lowering his voice as though trapped in an argument with an unseen opponent.  Finally, as his nightmares reached a fever pitch, he leapt from his bed with a strangled gasp, his hand sliding uselessly across the plain surface of the small bedside table before his momentum tipped his body over the side of the bed and sent him tumbling to the wooden floor in a heap.  He was quick to rise back to his feet, eyes flashing about in panic as he searched the table desperately.

“Looking for this?”  Balrog, who had taken a seat and made himself comfortable nearby, held out a short knife in a plain leather scabbard.  Victor eyed him for a few moments before his face was briefly colored by anger.  He turned away, coughing drily as he tried to catch his breath, frowning and ignoring the older scout for a few moments as he walked over to where a basin of water had been provided for the use of the barracks.  He removed the top in a careless gesture that almost sent it rattling to the floor, a fact which he ignored as he splashed his face with the cool water once, twice, and again.  He leaned over the small tub for a few moments afterwards, chest heaving as he tried to calm himself.  At least his awakening had not roused any of the others in the barracks.

“What good would the knife have done you?” Balrog asked gently.

“I dreamt I was being attacked,” the age regressed young man insisted.  He wiped his face with one hand and shook it to remove the droplets of water that still clung to his skin.  He turned to look at Balrog, the bitterness in his expression readily apparent to the older scout.

“You and I both know that you’re hoping to protect your fearless image,” Balrog scolded.  “As it is a vain hope, I suggest you answer my question again, honestly this time.”

Victor softened a bit.  Although Balrog’s tone certainly suggested a reproof, it was spoken as one man to another, and not as a man to a child as Vic had heard so often before.  The fact that Balrog still knew how to treat him as a friend and not as an infant to be punished cooled the fire in his breast, and he took one more moment to settle himself before he responded again.

“You are correct, of course,” he admitted in low tones.  He turned away from the basin of water, leaving its lid to the side, and sat on the edge of his bed.  He glanced about the large room, glad that no one seemed to have been disturbed by his sudden waking.  “I dreamt of the plague.”

“What would the knife have done to stop the plague?” the older man asked.

Victor shook his head.  “I don’t know.  The things I dreamed, the horrors…  I couldn’t let them go one.  I had to do something, anything to stop it.”

“That is why plagues are best dealt with by healers,” Balrog advised.  “Against such an enemy, force of arms is nothing.  Men like us have our uses during a plague, but against the plague itself we have no power.  You and I are in the best position we could be in at this time.  We have the opportunity to aid the healers by quelling panic without risking the malady ourselves.”

“You told me of this already,” Victor observed.

Balrog gave a crooked smile.  “Sometimes repetition can help make the first telling easier to recall.”

Victor nodded, but his head remained low.  He shook briefly where he sat and looked up at Balrog.  There was far too much of the frightened boy in his eyes.

“I saw my family taken by the plague, Balrog, and I saw myself returning to the Keep only to find that no one even knew where to find their bodies.  I said my goodbyes to the ashes of a funeral pyre, to the ashes of dozens burned to save the rest.  In other nightmares I can laugh because I know that such things are ludicrous, but this dream I know can be real and it terrifies me.”  He managed to avoid sobbing outright, but the tears were already running down his cheeks.  He waved his hand as though he would continue, but despite the movements of his lips he could not manage to say anything more before terror stole his voice.

The two sat there for a long while, Balrog quietly giving his friend the time he needed to compose himself, and Victor doing his best to keep from crying aloud and disturbing the others who slept in the nearby bunks.  Balrog did notice a few people taking notice of his hysteric companion, but a withering glare turned them away in a moment.  Victor was far beyond the point of caring by then, but his companion did not believe that he deserved to be the subject of any negative attention from others.  Many of the others in the barracks were likely feeling similar emotions, but had hardened themselves against the full weight of the situation through training, alcohol, or a combination of the two.

It took some time, but Victor finally calmed down enough to stem the flow of tears.  He took a few more moments to make certain that they would not begin again, and then returned to the basin to wash away the marks left by the tears.

“How do you do it?” he asked, his voice weak.

“My family is far from the Keep, and even if they were not I would find it hard to wish the best for them.  For my friends?”  He shrugged.  “I have several friends still in the Keep, yes, but last I saw them they were well.  I suppose that I simply do not think that there is any sense dwelling on the worst unless the worst should come.”

Victor chuckled quietly.  “I suppose that I am not gifted with quite so much apathy as you are, my friend.”  He covered the basin once more and returned to the bed, slumping in exhaustion.  “My family…  I don’t have anything beyond them!  You and the Commander, you’re friends but that’s a professional necessity, no offense to either of you.  Besides patrols and training, my family is my entire life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  How I would live without them…”

“They are still there, Victor.  They are still in the Keep, and they are alive,” Balrog said.

“How do you know?”

Balrog sighed and played with his beard between his fingers.  “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.  “I don’t know it any more than I know that the Keep’s walls still stand.  I don’t know them, but I believe that both things are true.”

Victor shook his head.  “You’re beginning to sound like a Patildor,” he groused.

The older man shrugged.  “It has often been said that every religion was founded on at least one indisputable truth, and the challenge lies in determining what of the rest is also truth.  I suppose I would say that faith is one thing at least that they have right.  It is patently impossible to live your life believing only in the things that you are able to see.  At some point it is necessary to believe in something unseen.”

The young man bobbed his head in agreement, although he was clearly still doubtful.  Still, he had calmed enough change the topic of discussion.  “Did you make any progress with your efforts?”

The mage shook his head.  “We weren’t able to solve the problem, no.”  He paused.  “Do you even know what it is that we are doing?”

His younger companion chuckled and shook his head.  “Commander Nathan was in too much of a hurry to tell me, and you were just trying to keep up with him.  I decided it wasn’t important for me to know.”

Balrog smiled, happy to see his friend return to better state of humor.  “We are trying to help a man who has had his curse returned to its full force.  He is trapped in the form of an animal, and we cannot find the reason.”

Vic frowned.  “I’m sorry that I cannot be any more help,” he remarked.  “I have no knowledge of magic to be able to even discuss its use, though.  Perhaps the best way I can help you is simply to let you get some rest.  I’m certain that you need to be up early tomorrow to try again?”

Balrog nodded.  “Yes, we will need to try again tomorrow morning.  Are you certain that you will be all right alone?”

“No, I’m not certain,” Victor admitted.  “Still, there are some things you just have to believe, right?”

The older scout chuckled and clapped a hand on the younger man’s back.  “That you do.  Rest well, my friend.  You will see your family again soon.”  He set the knife which he had taken back on the bedside table before standing and walking quietly towards his own bunk.

“Balrog?”  He turned to see Victor still sitting on the edge of the bed.  “Thank you for staying by me.  I really needed some encouragement tonight.”

“Don’t mention it.  If we can’t depend on our friends, then who can we trust?”

As Balrog walked away, Victor stayed on the edge of his bed for a few moments.  Finally, after some more thought, he finally managed to lie down and find some more peaceful rest.



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