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Chapter 18
Part 2
Wresting himself from the ground, Fendrick’s mind finally drew respite from the clawing influence of the staff. Glancing to his left, he could see his allies trying desperately to save Podge. Angharad still had a grip on his ankle, and with a swift kick to her side, her fingers released amidst a pained wheeze.
“Podge!” Fendrick scrambled over to his friend.
“Not so fast.” The goliath’s hand tensed on his shoulder, eliciting a cry of anguish as Fendrick felt his bones giving way.
“I can’t let another person die under my watch!” Fendrick clawed at Gustov’s huge fingers, drawing blood with his nails.
Unperturbed, Fendrick felt Gustov’s hand grab his belt and the ensuing weightlessness as he hauled him over his head. “This is for little Angharad.” With a bloodcurdling shout, the goliath slammed Fendrick into the ground.
Flashes of black and light danced in Fendrick’s vision. His breath was struggling to reach his lips. Pain coursed through his back as his fingers gave up their grip on his sword. In his peripherals, he could see Gustov collecting Angharad in his arms and carrying her away from the fighting.
“I’ll be sure to get the prince as soon as I can. Try not to die.”
Catching his breath, Fendrick placed a bloodied hand on the rocks of the quarry and began the excruciating task of lifting himself up. Pain shot up and down his spine, culminating in his lower back and coursing through his legs.
“I didn’t train you to give up so easily. Come on boy, your private is there and needs your help.” Tristan stood over Fendrick and attempted to give a rousing pep talk.
The voice reached him in bits and pieces, but the words of his mentor gave him a second wind. Thoughts of another funeral gnawed at his brain, the white paint covering Podge’s body, and the prayer of release. Finally upright, Fendrick attempted to shake off the ringing in his head and the still continuing dancing lights in his vision. Neither stopped. Pointing himself at Podge, the sights of his allies still desperately clawing at the mass that was consuming his body made him pick up the pace. His feet found their purchase in the loose rocks and propelled him forwards clumsily. Without even realising he had left his sword, Fendrick continued his march.
“Fen! He’s nearly gone. Nothing is working.” Kolt scratched at the mass with her nails. The damage done was surface level and healed almost instantly as the mass writhed and convulsed over Podge’s body.
His screams had all but stopped, and his muscles had relaxed and given up fighting. Nothing more than his calves and feet remained, and the mass showed no sign of stopping.
“We’ll get you out of their Podge, I won’t let you die.” Fendrick joined in trying to pry the creature from Podge’s body before the pain finally became too much. The darkness consumed his vision, and he tumbled face first into the mass.
The electricity had caused An’kachat’s body to grip the stone hard. Waist high in water, Ifan pried it from the webbed hands of his former guide, breaking the sahuagin’s fingers in the process.
The stone was warm to touch. Its insides whirred with activity and its colour had shifted to a deep red. Ifan stuffed it back into another hip pouch, shifting aside some coinage to make room for it. Spotting a struggling Rhian on the other side of the lake, Ifan broke out into a front crawl, speeding towards his fellow adventurer.
Rhian was barely hanging on, having tumbled into the waters from on high with a chest deprived of air from the winding she had received from Fendrick’s magic. Her feet and hands struck out from her body in an effort to keep her head above water, creating a mass of splashing that Ifan struggled to traverse.
His hands finally reached her torso. Her arms struck his head as she tried to springboard herself above the water, but he persisted, dragging her closer to the shore. Spluttering, she coughed up water as Ifan placed her on the rocky coast. Placing his ear to her mouth, the startling lack of breath arrested his own. His fists slammed into her chest, and he began chest compressions.
His head raced with the thought of another person dying in his arms. With eyes full of tears, he continued. Ifan felt his arms seizing up as he realised Rhian’s breath was still not returning to her.
“Fuck! Rhian, please. I can’t lose you too. What do I do?” His tears poured on to his hands, mixing with the lake water covering her clothes.
A cough.
Another glob of water escaped her lips. Ifan laughed reflexively, wiping away the tears from his face. Placing his ear to her mouth once more, the confirmation of her return to steady breathing made his heart stop momentarily.
“Thank the Gods.” Ifan embraced her awkwardly, pulling her body into his as he kneeled over her. “I’ve got to go help Angharad now too. I’ll be back soon, ok?” Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a long kiss to her fingers. Fixing his gaze towards Angharad, a nodding Gustov indicated that he had things in hand.
The sounds of the Fendrick and his allies frantically helping their friend Podge filled the quarry, and Ifan couldn’t help but think history was repeating itself. This was the second time Fendrick had come up against him, and both times they had to tend to their own wounded instead of furthering the bloodshed. Ifan had a passing thought that the circumstances that have brought them together were cruel. In another life, the two of them could have been friends, or allies. Reaching Angharad, Ifan curled up his prayer beads in his fingers and began reciting a prayer of healing.
“Thanks, cap.” Angharad coughed up some more blood as the wound on her chest healed.
“No joining in if things get hairy again. You’re liable to pass out with the amount of blood you’ve lost.”
“I can’t guarantee that. How’s Rhi?”
“She’s conscious. Keep an eye on her, alright? But stay out of the conflict.” Ifan gave Angharad a once over, and after confirming she was alright, stood up. The two prayers had already taken their toll on Ifan, having relied on his powers several times throughout the day. And his eyes had yet to burn white, which spelled worry if the fighting escalated once more. Drawing a deep breath with closed eyes, Ifan centred himself. He made his way over to Gustov, who stood readied between the adventurers and the elves.
“Is little Angharad going to be alright? And how was Rhian?” asked Gustov, keeping his gaze fixated on the elves.
“Haz is going to be fine, a little out of it, but fine. Similar story for Rhi; a brush with death will have shaken her, so I don’t expect her to be able to join us.” Ifan readied his blade and leant right and left to get a better look at Podge.
“No idea what’s happening to him. Some creature has attached itself to the poor fool and shows no signs of stopping. He’ll be gone in the next five minutes, I reckon.” Gustov pointed to the staff, “and I disarmed the captain. The odd staff he was holding is there, buried in the quarry wall. It was magical, and had a mind of its own, like that stone.”
“So we know why they’re after the stone at least. Looking to complete the set of weird magical artefacts.” The scraping and shouting coming from their opponents continued, and Ifan winced. “Should we offer to help?”
“The captain of their little troop nearly killed Angharad and Rhian. I would rather leave them to their own devices. What happened to the sahuagin?”
“An’kachat is over there,” Ifan gestured to the lake, “or at least was there. I stunned him with a lightning spear and retrieved the stone. Best keep our eyes on him just in case he tries his luck again. But now that he’s out of the caves and knows we won’t be so easily stolen from, I imagine he made his escape from this rather perilous situation we’ve found ourselves in.”
“Hmph. I guess that’s the thanks we get for saving that fishy bastard’s scales.”
A cry for help came from the group of elves. The woman. She waved at Gustov and Ifan, and they stared at each other, hoping the other would break first.
“I’ll go,” said Ifan.
“You go,” Gustov demanded.
“How kind of you.” Ifan sheathed his sword and approached the group tentatively, getting a closer look of their ally, Podge, and his status. The flesh-coloured mass had all but consumed the poor bastard, leaving his ankles and feet exposed as the two men tried desperately to pull the creature upwards and away from the elf’s body. Fendrick laid in a slump nearby, unconscious.
“You. You can use healing magic, can’t you? I heard from one of our allies that after you ran him through and took his arm you healed him so he wouldn’t die. Please, help us save our friend.” She looked earnest. Tears were welling up in her already puffy red eyes and her fingers were bloody and raw.
“I don’t know how much help my prayers will do. I’ve never seen anything like this. Do you have any idea of what it is? I’m Ifan by the way, and you are?”
“Kolt. Nice to meet you, Prince Ifan. And we have no idea, none whatsoever. We were exploring the island to the east, and we came across this facility looking for that,” she pointed to the staff. “Podge was thrown into a glass cylinder that contained this thing, it got loose and started eating Podge’s body from his head down.” Kolt wiped her fingers on her jacket and felt her upper lip quiver. “It’s horrific. I don’t even know if he’s still alive in there.”
“And efforts to pry the thing loose have been, less than effective, it seems.” Ifan gestured to Kolt’s hands.
“Aye. So is there aught you can do? We can’t cast magic, so maybe any amount of it will do more than our meagre efforts with blades and hands.”
“I can give it a go. I’d have to ask that your comrades give me some space, lest they end up getting in the way.” Ifan looked at the unconscious Fendrick and shook his head.
“You heard him, give him some room. By the El’dorei, I hope this works.”
The other male elf dragged off Fendrick with the help of Dai, who gave a harsh glare to Ifan. The mass’ movements were slow and made a low, disgusting squelch as more and more of Podge was consumed. Standing over it, Ifan took a moment to think of an appropriate prayer to use, and settled on a lighting spear.
The low hum of electricity growing in his fingertips startled Kolt, who stepped back hurriedly to give Ifan more space. Concentrating, Ifan mustered up his strength and his eyes flashed white as a small dagger sized lightning spear coalesced in his hand. He started at the base of the mass. The flesh pulsated in his hand as he grabbed onto it to keep it steady. Its undulating made him nauseous, but he persisted, hacking into the flesh of the creature with the manifested lightning. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, an odour Ifan realised he had become uncomfortably used to. Carving upwards, Ifan pulled away the flesh from Podge’s body, slowly revealing his knee, then his upper thigh.
“I think it’s working.” Ifan continued, the flesh giving way to the lightning blade.
Kolt watched over his shoulder and pumped her fist, “Thank the El’dorei.”
Podge’s body continued to be revealed, his upper thigh, and then his hips. Ifan winced as he pulled away the flesh once more. Kolt covered her mouth in disgust as Podge’s bloodied torso was revealed. Exposed organs and ribs showed that the mass was in the process of digesting him.
The flap of skin slipped out of Ifan’s hand, and he fell backwards onto his behind. The creature folded back over Podge’s body and within seconds had resealed. Ifan’s eyes flashed, and the lightning dissipated from his hand. He shook his head, before turning to Kolt. Her eyes streamed with tears. Ifan glanced at Dai and the other elf, and back to Kolt. The other stood up and rushed over to Kolt, giving her a quick side hug, and wiping her tears away.
“There’s nothing more we can do, Kolt.”
“Ryker… He’s gone.” Kolt caught her breath in her throat, struggling for air.
“I know.”
“And his body. We won’t be able to perform the sending ritual. He’s gone forever.” Kolt looked back at the mass. It had completely consumed Podge. It writhed on the floor and slowly crawled towards Ifan. “Ifan! Get out of the way!”
“Shit!” Ifan kicked at it and scrambled upwards, taking two steps backwards and nearly took a spill into the lake.
Gustov caught him. Pulling him to one side, the goliath patted him on the back. “You’ve done all you can.”
Ifan sighed. “Perhaps we can parlay, instead of using violence. We’ve no real need for the stone, but that staff spells trouble.” He looked back at the quarry wall. The staff was gone. “Where the—”
A blast of solid air struck Ifan, lifting him off his feet and sending him tumbling into the lake. His body slid right out of Gustov’s fingers, and his ribs took the brunt of the damage. He could feel the water rushing into his mouth, its coldness irritating his throat, eliciting a warbling cough. He was unable to work out his orientation, and the air struggled to get to his lungs. Ten seconds later, amongst a cacophony of noise coming from the shore, Ifan passed out.