Ivy League Illusion, Part 13
Knock-out Blow
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Short of running through the fire, I had no way to reach my wife and my other rescuers. Nonetheless, I moved in that direction, wondering if thrusting my staff into the flames might disrupt the underlying magic.
“No!” yelled Nidhoggson, who knew he would burn if I burned. Alfarinn, who wanted me alive long enough to gain control of my staff at the very least, hit me with another dose of Thurisaz merkstave, and I fell to my knees. Tears ran down my cheeks as I realized that I had no way to save my friends. The only thing keeping me from howling in despair was that I had heard no sound from them. People burning alive could not have been so quiet.
Nearly unconscious as Thurisaz drained me, I could sense magic fighting against Cweorth. Could it be Cweorth merkstave? Yes, it was. One of my rescuers knew runic magic. I was so weak now that I could barely breathe a sigh of relief.
Alfarinn dropped Thurisaz to reinforce his Cweorth casting, but the flames started flickering despite his best efforts. Whoever opposed him was a powerful caster.
I also saw an amber glow behind the flames, growing stronger as I watched, reaching out for me. My wife was still alive—and fighting to save me, despite the danger to herself.
Two of Alfarinn’s men grabbed me from behind and hauled me to my feet. I struggled against them, but I was still weak, and though they had fairly slender builds, I was no match for them. Anyway, they held me with magic as well as physical strength. I could move my hands, meaning I couldn’t draw runes. I didn’t know how to make them just appear the way that dark alfar sorcerer did.
“Make yourself useful,” Alfarinn told Fjalar. “Block that passage.”
The duergar scowled but raised his staff, and stone started to grow between the flames and me, narrowing the passage. In a minute at most, that path would be completely sealed.
I felt a little stronger, but I still couldn’t break away from my guards. Nor could I draw runes. But maybe I could do a little faerie magic.
Having no idea what I was doing, I visualized the opening widening instead of narrowing. I threw whatever energy I had into that effort.
I felt some magic respond to me, but either it was too weak, or Fjalar’s magic was much stronger. Either way, the the opening continued to shrink.
Somehow, it was still clutching the staff. The dark alfar didn’t want to touch it anymore than Nidhoggson did. I remembered that the runes were painted on it in Freya’s blood. If I concentrated, I could feel their power. But I had no way to manipulate them. The same power in the guard’s grips that kept me from drawing with my hands kept me from moving my hand on the staff.
The flames looked pale, but in a few more seconds, that wouldn’t matter. I’d be gone, and my rescuers would be unable to follow.
But my wife continued to fight. The amber magic leaped through the shrinking opening and shot in my direction like an arrow. When it struck, it engulfed me, causing the guards holding me to yelp and release their grip. The magic somehow resonated with the staff, which grew hotter in my hand and acted like a secondary source for the amber energy.
Feeling newly empowered, I raised the staff and unleashed the echoing amber magic at Fjalar, breaking his concentration and forcing his staff down toward the ground.
“Fire!” Alfarinn yell. Almost immediately, I heard arrows whizzing through the air toward me. I had no time to protect myself, though the amber magic around me slowed the first arrows so much that they didn’t hit me with enough force to penetrate my clothes or skin. But I felt the magic weaken. It would not withstand several volleys.
I swung the staff around me, forcing the two alfar who had grabbed me before to move farther back. Then I stumbled toward Fjalar, intending to bash him with the staff. Still fighting the amber magic, he never saw me coming.
But Alfarinn’s archers did, and they rained arrows down upon me in an effort to stop me. Wildly firing the way they were, I wondered how they could possibly be sure that a stray arrow wouldn’t plunge into my heart.
I wasn’t fast enough to use the staff to deflect arrows effectively, and there wasn’t anything nearby that I could hide behind. Amber magic still flickered around me, but each arrow it deflected weakened it still further. Not knowing how my wife had cast it in the first place, I had no way to renew it, so I just kept plodding forward. Fjalar finally turned his attention to me. Stones sprouted up from the floor, tripping me but not stopping me.
I was vaguely aware that Alfarinn’s fire had died, and I heard a cracking sound. It had to be my rescuers trying to widen the opening enough for them to get through. I had to keep Fjalar busy until they could succeed.
Unfortunately, when I finally got within striking distance of him, he swung his staff with far more strength than I had, striking mine and knocking it out of my hand. The amber magic, partially tied to it, became unstable. Grabbing up the staff as quickly as I could, I struck Fjalar in the stomach, but that move had little effect on him. He reacted as if his body was made of stone. Before I could strike another blow, he bashed me in the skull, and I fell to me knees, clinging desperately to consciousness. I was still aware to realize that the amber magic, exhausted and disrupted, was fading fast, leaving my fate in the hands of the archers.
Ivy League Illusion is related to the Different Dragons series. (The action falls after the end of the third book.)
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