A Smidge of Magic

Chapter 57

When Ian cautiously opened his eyes the wall behind him was still rippling like the surface of a lake. He assumed he'd been hit with a sleep spell, but it mustn't have been very powerful. One of the men was already gone, and the other now approached him with a pair of manacles. Ian pretended he was still under the effects of the spell, unwilling to give away the minute advantage he had. He waited until he felt the man's feet behind him and sprang into action.

Ian spun himself around and kicked out and up with his long legs. The man's cry of surprise was cut short as Ian's feet planted in his stomach and sent him flying back out through the rippling wall. His would-be captor flew through it as the wall resolidified, sealing him on the other side. One down. Ian thought as he snatched up the dropped manacles. The second man came bursting into the room.

"What?!" Was all he managed to get out before the heavy manacles caught him in the side of the head. He crumpled to the floor with a nasty gash across his forehead. Ian paused, listening for the sound of movement. Hearing nothing he cuffed one of the man's hands to the opposite ankle, hobbling him. Ian took the only exit from the room, the door his assailants had come through.

The adjoining room revealed he was in an abandoned storefront and with a swift kick to the door he was back on the street. The buildings here were packed so tightly together there were only scant inches between them. He would have to go around the entire block to return to the intersection where he'd lost Vale and Pandora. And with the spider web of streets there was no telling how long that might take. A hasty scan of the streets revealed a way down to the docks. He knew the shop name and basic location, so he headed that way. He held onto the hope that with any luck he would come across his friends along the way.

......

Mal moved through the city with ease, sliding from shadow to shadow as he went. Tracking the scents of the horned friend and the smelly one took no time with his sensitive nose. In fact, his sense of smell was so keen it allowed him to see the scent trails and follow them in the same way a tracker could follow a set of footprints. All the while maintaining his incredible speed. Soon the gray blur was at Allister's house, where the trail disappeared inside. He ran up to the entrance and tried to listen, but it was impossible to hear anything through the thick door. With a growl of frustration, Mal gripped the knocker in his teeth and spat it back at the door.

"No, no, no! Bad dog!" The knocker cried in distress, startling Mal and causing toenails to scrabble on the pavement as he backed up.

The door opened to reveal Allister, Roland, and Ban'Koliath having successfully concluded their trade.

"I can't reverse transformation magic, Gent. You want Mage MacAlster up the road," Allister replied in a tone that indicated he'd said it several times before.

"No, he's with us." Ban'Koliath explained. "Something's gone wrong. Lead on Mal."

......

After his third pass of the same fishmonger, Ian knew he was lost. He'd made it to the docks unhindered, but the warren of streets created by the haphazard layout of the city was far too disorienting. He stood aside near a mostly human group and tried to blend in while he collected his thoughts. All I can do is keep looking. Worst case, they'll send Mal to find me, Ian assured himself.

He found a spot out of the way and waited, leaning against a wall and doing his best to appear inconspicuous. Ian heard shouts of anger behind him and turned to the source. Through the milling people he caught a flash of crimson and a rage-filled scowl trying to force his way through the crowded boardwalk. Ian recognized him from the fight outside the law office. It was the mage that Roland had tied up and all but wrapped a bow for the High Cavaliers in Raxal.

Fairly certain that he'd been recognized, Ian jogged off the boardwalk and made his way into another alcove of shops. Anxiously scanning the storefronts for something that sounded defensible, Crang's Shredded Armor was the obvious choice. The shop was a two-story wooden structure with a window display that had been broken down to a few stray shards of glass on the edges of the frame. Inside it sat an armor clad mannequin. Outside it hung the severed hand of an orc with a single word tattooed across the palm; Thief.

Ian pulled open the front door and felt a rush of air pass by his head. A silver dart sunk into the doorframe having scarcely missed him. He glanced back and saw his pursuer's hand glow. Another dart manifested and hurtled towards him. He ducked behind a displayed tower shield which was large enough to conceal him.

Clang! The echoing clash of metal rang out, drawing the attention of the smith.

"Hey! Take it outside!" A thick armed dwarf called out from above.

Ian glanced up to a second-floor landing that spread over the rear third of the building. The dwarf stalked towards the stairs, muttering something about 'being too old for this'. Ian tried to wave him back to safety, but he paid no heed. He hadn't taken more than three steps before his hand went to his neck, blood already welling from between his fingers. Ian watched as he dropped like a stone over the railing and into a display of breastplate armor and gauntlets. The whole thing clattered down on top of him and a dark red pool seeped out across the wooden floorboards.

More darts flew into the shop with reckless abandon. Ian hefted the shield from the display. He made good and certain that his entire frame was tucked in behind it before moving deeper into the shop. With all the noise of the city, the crowd milling around outside hadn't even taken notice that he was under attack. Either that or they didn't care. He needed to draw the mage inside if he was going to stand a chance in this fight. He pulled his gun and took a step back.

The shield weighed at least fifty pounds, and even with his adrenaline pumping Ian couldn't hold it with one arm for very long. He inched his way backward toward the rear of the shop. The process made all the more difficult by the constant clang or thunk as the silvery darts of death peppered his every step. And the bleeding cut on his shin had led to the discovery that the bottom edge of his shield was sharpened, giving him even more motivation not to drop it.

Talazar was beyond frustrated by the performance of his two lackeys. How could those two have screwed up so monumentally that they woke someone from one of MY sleep enchantments?! The only thing keeping his rage at bay when he uncuffed Gruhn was that his decoy was working. And now his target was cornered in a shop with no way out. Gruhn was on his way to the back to ambush and subdue the target, and Talazar's rounded belly and Razor Darts kept the front exit locked down. The Court might still allow him to live if he could wrap things up properly, and quickly. As long as Ips could manage not to do anything completely disastrous to give himself away, everything would work out. Then they could get out of the filthy pirate town and back to The Key.

Ian reached the back door of the smithy, when it swung open to reveal Gruhn. The two caught eyes. Ian slammed the shield down into the floor, the sharp edge biting deep into the wood. At the same time Gruhn closed in with a wicked knife poised to attack. Ian's instincts took over and he steadied his aim, firing at center mass. A look of disbelief spread across Gruhn's face as a roar of sound and a belch of fire sprung from Ian's pistol. He reached down and had a moment to look as his life blood pumped out into his hand before his eyes went vacant and his body collapsed.

Talazar was growing impatient with this back and forth, and worse he heard the bark of that strange weapon. The sound kept him from entering the shop, but he knew how to flush out a corner rabbit from its hole. He snarled in anger, his rage turning into physical heat which manifested as a fireball between his raised hands.

Ian dove for the back door. When he didn't see, or hear, any dart zinging past him he pulled it open. And immediately slammed it shut again. He'd only needed a glimpse of the pitch-black armor, the towering stature, and impossible physique.

Dakon!