Book 3. Chapter 57

Book 3. Chapter 57

He was tied up, bound and gagged, and being carried. He felt the cool night air against his skin; his shirt had been removed and there was something wet on his back.

So far he hadn’t been injured, but he couldn’t depend on it staying that way. He needed to do something. He needed a plan. He felt groggy; it was hard to think. His Mental Resistance was telling him that there was some kind of magic trying to keep him asleep, and only actively deciding to wake up with the effects of the potion of Lucid Dreams still in his system had overcome it.

He prepared to summon glass to cut the ropes off his arms and legs as well as stab the man carrying him all at the same time. He didn’t want to speak and alert his kidnapper that he was awake, so he couldn’t use the Language. It would be wasteful, but he would cast this the normal way, by forming his intentions in his mind. Once he had an appropriate image, he pushed mana into the spell.

It didn’t activate.

The mana was winnowed away, into symbols drawn on the skin of his back. That’s what the wetness he’d felt was, someone had drawn enchantments onto his and the paint was still wet. No glass magic, but could he do light?

He decided to try sound instead, just make a cricket chirp off in the distance somewhere to let him know if it was working. He formed the idea, then... he didn’t even get to the step where he could try pushing mana into the spell. There was nowhere to put it.

There was no glass nearby. He’d completely forgotten about the [Glassbound] limitation because he was so used to casting out of whatever glass happened to be nearest that he didn’t even think about it any more.

His glass rings, the ones he used to store memories, were all missing. The pouch where he kept the glass flashbang balls was missing as well. Whoever was kidnapping him knew that he was a [Glasser] and had removed all glass from him as a precaution. He still didn’t know if the spell written on his skin would prevent his light magic, and he wouldn’t get to know. They’d cut him off by accident.

There had to be glass somewhere. His pockets might have some tiny sliver, even that would be enough. He couldn’t reach them. A splinter in his fingers? He rubbed his hands together, trying not to move too much, and noticed Lumina’s ring.

They’d left his ring. These people had decided to capture Brin, but even they weren’t stupid enough to offend an [Archmage]. Or maybe they wanted it to remain on his finger to prove his identity? He couldn’t guess their intentions now; he needed to escape. With the ring, he had a way. The secret dimensional storage had a water bottle, a couple potions, but most importantly, his most powerful spear.

With [Multithreading], he split off four directed threads. He ordered two of them to make Invisible Eyes. One would give him an idea of his whereabouts and situations and then return as soon as possible. The other would search for his belongings and then return.

Another thread was assigned to make the Self-Invisibility spell. He didn’t even know if he could do these spells without [Memories in Glass]. Self-Invisibility was especially hard, and he’d barely practiced it, but he hoped that his high Mental Control had given him a better memory than he gave himself credit for. The last he assigned to a Mirror Image. He was pretty sure he could do that one, even if the other one failed.

All four threads could start forming the spells now, and then cast them as soon as he had access to glass.

He also noticed that he still had the wristband Hogg had given him. It would only give him a few seconds of invisibility, but that would be enough if his directed thread failed.

With all four threads split off, the rhythm of his kidnappers shoulder digging into his ribs increased in tempo, but not by too much. Directed threads really were remarkably efficient.

He waited, giving his threads enough time to do their magic. It was nerve-wracking to do nothing, and it might’ve been foolish. The first rule of getting kidnapped was to get away immediately. You were never as strong or as close to freedom as the moment they first grabbed you, and every moment after that put you further into their control.

He was patient. He heard voices shouting, but didn’t think he heard any fighting. It was hard to tell. In movies, fighting was the loud sound of steel against steel, as people paired off for long, drawn out duels. In this experience, fights were brutal and short. There was a lot of shouting; that was all he could tell.

A thread returned. Self-Invisibility had failed about a quarter of the way through the spell. He could try again, but it would be useless. He needed his glass back. With the [Memories in Glass] of tracing the spell through Hogg’s written instructions, he could guarantee a successful spell every time. Without it, it was a roll of the dice.

He waited, praying that his other two spells would succeed. When a minute went by with no feedback, he assumed that they had been able to formulate the spell and now they were waiting. It was time.

The person holding him slowed down, jogging to a stop. “I have him. Let’s get out of here. Where’s the captain?”

A bunch of voices answered him at once.

“Who’s that?”

“We’re not leaving until the [Caravan Master] opens up his wagon.”

“Where’s your team?”

“I wasn’t told about any of that. This is a disaster!”

Not good. Brin should’ve tried to get away as soon as he’d woken up. Now he was surrounded. Maybe this was a good thing? As the man carrying him tried to coordinate his orders with the group, he was distracted.

Brin bucked, putting all his over-100 points of Strength into kicking himself off the man’s shoulder. He launched into the air, felt a panicked hand trying to grab him and miss.

He hit the ground, and summoned his glass spear from the ring while activating his armband at the same time, going invisible.

Just as he’d hoped, he felt the pull of magic casting through the glass of his spear as the three remaining threads finished their spells.

“Catch him!” came a shout.

The first thread returned, giving him an image of the surroundings. There were four men nearby. A [Cutter], a [Warrior], and two [Lumberjacks]. They were in the low thirties in level, except the [Warrior] who was level 25.

Brin’s mirror image was currently running away, and all four men were focused on it, giving Brin time and a direction. The mirror image looked a bit wonky; it had even copied the ropes around his wrists and ankles and they looked a bit strange, all stretched out so that the mirror image could run. It was the best his directed thread could do, and it was fooling them for now.

He pushed off with both feet, crawling across the ground like a demented earthworm. He pushed from his back so that he’d be able to still hold the spear with his bound hands and also in the hope that he’d be able to scratch off the enchantment from his back. He also rubbed the back of his head against the ground, trying to move the blindfold. He pushed it away from one eye, letting him see what was going on, and the roadrash scraped his back raw.

He tried pushing some mana through his spear. Nothing; it all got siphoned away to the enchantment on his back.

“It’s an illusion! Find the real one!” yelled a man. The [Cutter] had caught up and run a knife through the Mirror Image. The directed thread returned. He sent it out again, telling it to make another Mirror Image, but he was out of time. The armband’s spell faded, making him visible again.

He made four more directed threads, one for each limb. Hot light, as hot as you can make it. Burn the ropes!

He instantly felt the draw on his mana and the pain of fire where they burned, but it wasn’t quick enough. The ropes singed and smoked, but it would take more time to break through. Time he didn’t have.

The [Warrior] was already starting back over towards him. He approached warily, even though Brin was still bound. “Jace. Go get Ronnil. We need an Eveladis over here.”

One of the [Lumberjacks] split and ran into the woods.

Brin tried to wrap himself around to get his glass spear to cut the ropes on his feet at least, but knew he wouldn’t get it done in time.

Suddenly he felt a tugging on his arms. Marksi! The little dragon bit ineffectually against the ropes, but then he opened his mouth wide and reformed his teeth into sharp daggers. His next bite went straight through them.

With his arms free, Brin barely got the spear up in time to deflect the charging [Warrior’s] blow; he’d lost all caution when he saw Brin getting loose.

Brin swung the spear awkwardly from the ground, just barely managing to parry the [Warrior’s] slashes. Wasting no time, Marksi snipped the ropes on Brin’s legs. He rolled back and got to his feet, deflecting another thrust from the [Warrior].

Newly free, he tried to rally and turn the [Warrior] back, but the man rebuffed every attack and slashed at Brin with a few quick swings that were a hair away from taking his arm off at the elbow.

This guy was good. No, he was perfect. That was the [Warrior] Class, making sure every blow was optimal. It also made him predictable, though. He felt like he was fighting someone who’d been practicing the sword forms that Hogg had taught him for twenty years, but never branched out beyond that. He thought he could use that to win, but then he noticed the other two bandits coming from behind. There’s no way he could win one vs three.

He turned and fled. The Mirror Image thread returned, having failed. Brin cursed and made three more with instructions to cast as soon as they completed.

Marksi yelped in alarm, so Brin dodged to the side, and saw a man bowl straight through the path he’d been running at top speed. It looked to be some kind of [Dash] equivalent, though he didn’t have Zilly’s control and had overshot by a dozen yards when Brin dodged.

He turned, and now Brin had three bandits behind him, and one [Bandit] in front. This one actually had the [Bandit] Class.

Brin leveled his spear and charged him. He didn’t need to beat this guy, he just needed to get through.

“My back, Marksi! Get the spell off my back!”

He felt Marksi licking his skin, then nibbling softly, trying to draw out the magic.

Then he was at the [Bandit].

The Invisible Eye had figured out where the caravan was before it was dispelled, so Brin ran that direction.

He created caltrops out of glass, throwing them behind him without even looking. Marksi squeaked, running along beside him but out of sight, and Brin jumped to avoid a flying dagger that would have hit his leg.

His wounds burned, his legs burned, and he was out of breath, but this was the point of all that training he’d been doing. His body still had plenty to give, and Brin sprinted for all he was worth.

Suddenly, he reached a clearing, and he saw everything at once. There were dead bandits, dead animals, and even a few dead caravaneers. The remaining people of the caravan were circled up, spears out, and Pio was in front of them shouting at the bandits. Big Ron the giant boar stood beside him, covered in superficial cuts and looking angry and fierce.

On the other side, the bandits had captured a [Merchant] woman. Their leader had a knife to her throat, and was shouting back at Pio.

Both turned to look at Brin as he dashed out of the trees.

“Hold there or she gets it!” shouted the bandit leader. “I have a spare back here!”

He was right; one of his men held another struggling woman by the arms. Brin slowed, then stopped. He winced in pain and exhaustion. After all that, he was still going to get captured. Then he noticed something, and smiled.

A black coating seemed to crawl over the leader’s blade, the one he held to the woman’s throat.

The bandit leader noticed it, and tried to pull it into his captive’s neck, but it didn’t budge. Then he tried to pull away, but he was fixed in place.

“You’re out of time,” Brin said with a smile.

“Wha–?”

The man exploded as a pure black spear slammed down on him from above.

More arrows, spears, and pure missiles of hard light flew into the bandits, decimating their forces.

A [Rogue] shot out at Brin from behind, using [Dash] to move in a blur, but a stray arrow slammed into him, reversing his momentum and impaling him into a tree.

It was a normal arrow, not from hard light. That wasn’t something Hogg could do. Confused, he noticed that more arrows were flying amid Hogg’s onslaught, taking out the quickest and sneakiest bandits.

The two women who were captured stayed frozen in fear as all the bandits around them were cut down. It was only when Pio shouted them over did they snap out of it and flee towards the rest of the caravan.

Silence fell. Brin turned to look for the next threat, but all the enemies were dead or gone.

Two men walked around the bend. One was Hogg, and he was in the company of a taller man in green, who looked oddly familiar. Hogg looked tired and sweaty, and his black leathers were covered with a greasy-looking film. The other man looked like he’d just stepped out of a high-class salon in Oud’s Bog. He was impeccably dressed without even a single speck of dust, and Brin grew increasingly sure he recognized him from somewhere.

It wasn’t until the man idly pulled his bow and shot at something Brin couldn’t see that he put it together.

“Lurilan!”

The [Hunter] smiled at Brin and nodded. “There he is. See? Safe and sound. Though, perhaps not sound. Those injuries look quite severe.”

Brin looked down at himself. Luckily he hadn’t been wearing a shirt or it would’ve been ruined, but he hardly had any cuts on his legs. “This is nothing. It’ll be gone by tomorrow. Though...” he hissed when he remembered the wounds on his back. “It stings a little.”

“He’s fine,” said Hogg. “But wait until you meet Marksi! Come here, boy!”

Marksi squeaked in delight and ran to Hogg who scooped him up off the ground with a laugh.

“Charmed,” said Lurilan with a wry smile. “But don’t we still have things to do?”

For the next few hours, everyone was busy with the aftermath. Brin was relieved to find that Zilly, Myra, Davi and Sion were alright. The caravaneers had busied themselves by picking up the pieces, sorting through the burned wagons, and preparing the dead for cremation. Brin was relieved to see that the children had all endured the raid untouched by hiding in one of the wagons.

After making sure the area was safe, Pio set off for Blackcliff to get help. Hogg and Lurilan headed off towards where Brin had seen the bandit’s wagon to finish them off and take a few prisoners to interrogate.

Brin stood in line with the injured, waiting his turn for someone with some kind of healing Skill to patch him up. He insisted that everyone with anything more than a paper-cut go in front of him, since [Scarred, but Healing] would do most of the work for him anyway. When [Battle Fury] expired he suddenly felt very woozy and needed to sit down, but luckily Myra was freed up from her last patient at about the same time. Her arms were red up to the elbows and she looked wan, but she quickly sewed him up. She couldn’t do anything for the gouges on his back, but another [Merchant] with [First Aid] applied some bandages.

With nothing else to do, Brin went back to his bedroll to see if any of his things had survived. His pack and bags were gone, but Hogg and Lurilan would probably bring them back when they found the wagon. Only his bedroll remained, and that had been torn to shreds.

Wait. Not just the bedroll. His enchanted blanket had been torn to ribbons. The wooden idol had been shattered to splinters, and the jar of ashes had been broken and scattered.

Someone had deliberately destroyed all his dream protections. This attack had all been for him.

He also noticed that the jail wagon had been broken in half. The [Perfumist] was nowhere in sight.

Oddly, there was no sign of Zerif. That couldn’t be right.

He asked Sion, who confirmed it. “He never left his wagon. I saw Pio go in before he left, so he must be in there.” Sion lowered his voice, looking around furtively. “In my opinion, the sooner Hogg returns, the better. People are starting to wonder if some of these deaths might have been prevented if the caravan’s strongest fighter had been around to help protect us. It may be best to have a... stabilizing presence around for when our dear leader finally shows his face.”

Hogg and Lurilan returned about an hour later. A black ox made of hard light, looking like living shadow, pulled the bandits’ wagon, filled to the brim with the caravan’s most valuable goods.

Hogg looked even more tired than before, but Marksi seemed happy. He gazed up at Lurilan in keen interest while the [Hunter] explained something.

“I’m sorry. We didn’t find her,” Hogg told Brin.

“That’s fine. I think I know where she is,” said Brin. “How long has Lurilan been here?”

“About three days. Sorry, I couldn’t let her know. But we should talk about this in private,” said Hogg.

“You’re right. There’s something else you should take care of first,” said Brin.

By now, almost the entire caravan had formed an angry circle around Zerif’s wagon, and were calling for him to come out.

“Are we even sure he’s in there?” Brin asked.

“One way to find out,” said Hogg. He tried the door, but it was locked with something magical. He formed what looked like black gloves around his hands; hard light, but he was still pretending to have shadow powers.

Hogg grabbed the door with both hands and pulled it off its hinges. There was a loud pop and the door smoked, smelling like burnt sugar. He stepped inside.

“Don’t–!” Hogg tried to hold anyone back from following him, but he was too late to stop Brin from seeing inside.

Zerif’s wagon was incredibly luxurious. A nice carpet, beautiful furniture, and everything trimmed in gold.

The [Caravan Master] himself was standing against the far wall, quite dead. His arms and legs had been broken and wooden stakes had been driven through each of his lungs, pinning him to the wall. The sight was gruesome, even for Brin who’d seen a lot of death.

Hogg looked back at Brin and sighed. “He didn’t go easy. With his Vitality, stakes through the lungs are fatal but not fast. He probably threw away his Class and levels to end his misery. If he hadn’t, we might have been able to save him.”

“Vicious. This was personal,” Brin said. It didn’t take a lot of thinking to figure out who’d done it. Everyone knew who’d been the last person to come in here. The same person who was halfway to Blackcliff by now, if that was really where he was headed at all.

“This was Pio.”