Vainglory 3.24 - Setting Course

Enjoy today's chapter :)

-Plum

24 – Setting Course

The bird’s speed was almost as terrifying to Ward as the painful grip it had around his torso. It was taking him deep into the gardens, leaving his friends behind, and he had serious doubts about their ability to find each other again, assuming he wasn’t eaten. He strained with everything he had; he tried to coax the wolf out, to erupt with ferocity and shatter the bird’s powerful grip. He struggled to concentrate, though, and the wolf wasn’t an eager participant in his current nightmare.

Ward didn’t know whether the beast was still too calm after the prolonged battle against the ratmen or if it simply wouldn’t show itself while he was hurtling through the air out of some sort of self-preservation instinct. Whatever the case, Ward’s struggles were fruitless as the great bird squawked and banked, diving toward an enormous wide-open area in the garden with a murky lake in the center.

“Oh, no,” Ward groaned, as the bird’s dive accelerated straight for the lake. Wind whipped his face, making tears stream out the corners of his eyes, but he tried to focus, tried to see what was in the clearing. He caught glimpses of muddy ground, tangled trees and briars, and then the bird released him, and he tumbled, head-over-heels, toward the dark water.

Part of Ward rejoiced that he wasn’t destined to be ripped asunder by a giant beak and fed to monstrous baby birds. It was a small part of him, though. The rest was seized by dread as the water’s surface rushed to meet him, and then he plunged into it. He tried to hold his breath, but the impact was harsh, and bubbles of air exploded out of his mouth as he sank. He supposed he was lucky that the water was deep enough to cushion his fall, but then he remembered his satchel and the grimoire, and he screamed his fury into the water, desperately scanning for light to determine which way was up.

When he caught a glimpse of pale yellow, he furiously kicked, and his wolf-stretched boots, soaked through with water, slipped off his feet. In the moment, he didn’t care; all he wanted was to get to the surface so he could hold his satchel up and pray his grimoire hadn’t yet been soaked. The bag was made of good leather with tight, well-waxed seams. There was hope.

As soon as his head breached the surface and he inhaled a deep breath, he thrust his satchel up, still kicking furiously with his legs. Blinking, gasping, he scanned the water for the closest shore and then, floating on his back, continued to kick while he held the satchel up. Ward was a good swimmer, and despite the awkward pose and the weight of his clothes and sword belt, he didn’t struggle with the effort. He supposed his newfound vitality and strength helped a great deal in that regard.

As he neared the shore, he tested the depth of the water and found he could sink his toes into the muddy silt at the bottom of the lake. Grunting, he did so and turned, carefully trudging up the bank, dreading the accidental step onto something sharp the entire way. He didn't know whether he was lucky or there just weren’t many sharp objects around, but he made it out of the lake without gashing his foot open on a pointy rock or branch.

A thought crossed his mind, and he grasped for his sword hilt in a panic—it was still there. Sighing with relief, he squelched his way over to a large, flat rock and sat down. He didn’t want to tempt fate with the thought, but he felt lucky that no monsters had attacked him in the water or on the shore.

“That was unpleasant,” Grace said, standing before him, clean and dry as ever.

“Thanks for all the help,” Ward grunted, carefully opening his satchel.

“Now I understand why you wanted one with the extra flap,” she said, moving closer.

“Yeah, but I was more worried about being caught in a torrential downpour, not dumped into a lake by a big damn bird.”

“Roc,” Grace corrected.

“Huh?”

“That thing was a roc, or at least it matched the description I’ve read in various texts.”

“Well it was damn big, and it was an asshole.” Ward began pulling objects out of his satchel, starting with his grimoire. He sighed with relief when he found only the front edge of the pages were wet, and not enough to make the ink run. “Now I understand why that spell I found in the catacombs was on a copper sheet. I should inscribe all my spells on sheets like that!”

Grace nodded. “Or get a grimoire enchanted to resist fire and water damage.”

Ward set the spellbook on the warm, flat stone beside him, then emptied the rest of his belongings—his hemograph, damp but hopefully okay; the mana well in its dripping pouch; his small sack of high-denomination glories; half a dozen healing tinctures; the focus crystal he’d gotten from Thrund; a small wooden box containing two pens and a pencil; and, finally, the little envelope of powder that he’d yet to identify—surprisingly dry. Everything else that he owned was in his pack, back with his erstwhile companions.

“No extra boots?”

Ward groaned, looking at his bare, muddy feet. “Are you going to do anything helpful or just mock my suffering?”

“I wish I could do something, but I think you’re up the creek without a paddle, so to speak.” She turned in a slow circle, shading her eyes. Ward knew she wouldn’t see anything useful; he’d hardly looked around, so she wasn’t working with much. As if she’d read his mind, she said, “Stand on that rock and give the area a good look!”

Ward did as she asked, taking the empty satchel with him. He held it upside down, letting the water drain out as he looked around the environment. The first thing he noticed was, in the distance, the enormous canopy of a great tree. “Oh shit, there’s the tree.”

Grace was suddenly standing on the rock, resting a hand on his shoulder as she leaned into him. “At least we have a plan, then.”

“We do?”

“Where do you think your companions will try to find you?”

“The last place they knew I was trying to go.” He supposed it made sense. There was no way they could track the bird from down on the ground where they’d been standing. They hadn’t found an exit yet, so they’d probably start working their way toward the tree, hoping Ward would do the same—if they assumed that goddamn bird hadn’t eaten him.

“Why didn’t you, um, wolf out and try to bite that bird’s talons or something?”

“I did.” Ward continued to scan the surroundings. The lake looked much larger from the ground. The shoreline was muddy, and he saw twisted, scraggly trees and thornbushes on every shore. Those same trees made it impossible to spot the garden walls and paths. His immediate vicinity wasn’t any different, though he thought he saw game trails wending into the woods. Conveniently, one of them ran roughly in the direction of the gigantic tree on the horizon.

“And the wolf wouldn’t come?” Grace asked, unaware that his mind had wandered far beyond their conversation.

“I think it got its fill of action from the ratman fight. I hate how we refer to it as a separate entity; it’s a part of me.”

Grace sighed, hopping down from the rock. “It’s for convenience, Ward. Let’s be real; if it were totally under your control, you would have changed when you wanted to.”

“Fine. Anyway, that part of me is tired. I can feel it. Maybe it takes something out of me to change—to regenerate from a hundred gashes and stabs.” Ward, too, jumped off the rock. “Give my bag a few minutes to dry out, and then I’ll repack this stuff.”

“You should see to your sword.”

“Ah shit, you’re right.” Ward pulled his sword out of the scabbard, trailing a splatter of water. Cursing, he wiped the blade off on his tattered sleeve, then laid it on the stone to dry. He unbuckled his sword belt and set it out in the sun, too, with the scabbard opening pointing toward the ground, allowing it to drain.

“You look like a vagabond.”

Ward chuckled, looking down at his torn, damp clothes and bare feet. “I guess I am a kind of vagabond. It’s not like I have a home.” He sat on the rock, letting the sun hit him full in the face. “Shouldn’t be joking around; I’m worried about Haley.”

“Not the others?”

“Come on. You know what I mean. I like Trent, and Lali seems all right, but I care about Haley. You know?”

Grace nodded, moving to stand in front of him. “I know. Anyway, you should be more worried about yourself. Haley’s a tough cookie, and those other two are no slouches.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just get to that damn tree.” He squinted toward the hazy green boughs in the distance. “At least we’re closer than they are. If we get there first, we can try to figure out which way is east and work our way to meet them.”

Grace followed his gaze, then spoke, her voice almost dreamy as she speculated, “I wonder if the ‘ancients’ or whoever made these challenges planned for that roc or, maybe multiple rocs, to grab people who tried to climb the walls. Do you think so, or was it just bad luck?”

Ward leaned back on one elbow. “I have a good feeling that, yeah, it’s a mechanism of the challenge. That, along with the trees and their vines, adds a whole new level to the control they had over the environment. They didn’t just create mechanical puzzles—they’ve constructed natural, living obstacles.”

“Imagine creating a biome like this, one that could last thousands of years while still functioning the way you designed it. Such control and power…” Grace shook her head, eyes wide with wonder.

“Where the hell are we, though? I mean, with the catacombs and the spire, you could tell we were in some kind of magical structure, but look—” Ward pointed up to the bright sky and the brilliant sun cooking down through the haze. “—we’re somewhere. Is it on Primus? Is it in another dimension?”

“I don’t know, Ward. Has the sun moved?”

Ward nodded. “Definitely. It was closer to the zenith when we arrived.”

“Well, if we’re here at night, I should be able to discern if we’re still on Primus by looking at the stars and planets.”

“Ah, that’s right—photographic memory.”

Grace smiled at him, winking. “More like eidetic, but better—my memory for visuals takes years to fade.” Suddenly, her expression changed, and she turned in a circle, like a mouse who’d just heard a cat meow. “Ward! Look around. Something—”

Then he heard it too—a slapping, squelching sound from behind him. He stood, whirling, and almost gagged at the sight he beheld. Corpses, rotting and gray, with ooze-filled eyes and mouths, were dragging their broken, torn bodies out of the lake, through the mud toward him. “Jesus!”

“Get your sword!”

Ward snatched up his sword. The things were still a dozen paces away, and they weren’t moving very quickly. After a moment’s hesitation, Ward began stuffing his belongings back into his satchel. “Do you think I can kill ’em with a sword?” he asked as he worked.

“I don’t know! They look like zombies! Try cutting their heads off!”

Ward repeatedly glanced toward the oncoming creatures, trying to get a count and keep himself aware of their position as he buckled on his sword belt. Two of the things were slowly struggling to their feet, and he thought there were five or six more in the mud, with many more—dozens—slowly dragging their way out of the water. “Uh-uh. Come on!” He slung his satchel over his shoulder, and, sword in hand, he jogged away from the lake toward one of the game trails he’d seen.

“Maybe a wise choice,” Grace said, running beside him.

Ward nodded as he slipped past the first scraggly, thorny trees. “Let’s just hope they’re not meant to herd us toward something worse.”

###

“Ward!” Haley screamed, watching the enormous bird snatch him off the wall. She leaped for the rope, grabbing hold and pulling herself up, hand over fist. She heard Lali curse, felt the piercing echo of Trent’s words of power, and then the bird screeched and buffeted its wings, smashing her against the wall with the currents of wind as it took off, flying past the wall.

“Get down!” Trent yelled, but Haley was determined. She continued climbing. Suddenly, the rope pulled away from the wall and shook violently, forcing her to stop climbing and hang on with all her might, wrapping her legs around it as it gyrated. “Haley! Get down, or another bird might come!”

Haley looked down to see it was Lali who held the bottom of the rope away from the wall, shaking it with all her might. Were they so certain that they’d risk hurting her? She glowered down at them, then let go, falling silently to her feet like a cat. “I should punch you for that!” Ignoring their protestations of good intention, she turned and started jogging down the left-hand passage. It didn’t match the bird’s trajectory exactly, but it was closer than the other way.

“Haley! Wait!” Trent called.

Haley didn’t wait. All she could think of was Ward pierced by enormous talons, carried away to be food for a giant bird. It made her feel light-headed and her stomach sick, like she’d eaten something very, very off. Could he really be gone? Could Ward die so randomly? He was larger than life! He was a hero! Could a bird just decide he was dinner and suddenly it was all over for him?

She reached another corner and turned right, dashing ahead—only to come to a sliding halt. Another courtyard lay ahead, and she’d seen something move. Even in her mad, desperate desire to help her partner—no, not just a partner; he was her friend, the closest thing she had to family—she knew it was tantamount to suicide to charge into a courtyard without assessing things first. Thudding footsteps behind her heralded the arrival of her companions.

“Thank the ancient gods,” Trent said, breathless. “I thought you’d gone mad.”

Haley felt tears in her eyes, emotion constricting her throat. She spun on him and, through clenched teeth, said, “I am mad! That bird took him! How could a damned bird take Ward?”

“Oi, it caught me by surprise, that’s for sure. Still, that wasn’t just a bird,” Lali said, and Haley saw she was carrying Ward’s pack, holding it by the straps in one gauntleted fist. The sight of it, forlorn and ownerless, brought more emotions bubbling up, and she fell to her knees, pressing her palms against her eyes.

“Hey.” Trent tentatively reached out to grasp her shoulder. “Hush now. Don’t give up on him yet. He’s a bloody lycan. That bastard’s hard as hell to kill. If that roc lets go of him long enough to try to take a bite, he’ll give it something to think about.”

His words struck a chord, and she remembered stories she’d read as a child. That bird had been a roc—great red tail feathers, twice as big as a draft horse, wings that cracked the air like thunder. “Do you really think so?” she asked, sniffing, still pressing her palms to her eyes.

“Are you kidding? I fought that man plenty enough to know he won’t die so easily. You know it too; that’s why you’re struggling to believe he could end so ignobly.”

“That’s some fancy talk for saying he’s a tough son of a bitch. Come on, pretty. We’ll find him.” Lali reached down to grasp Haley under the arm, hauling her up as though she was a child who’d fallen and scraped a knee. Haley wanted to struggle and lash out, but she didn’t. Lali was just trying to be nice. Still, she felt a surge of darkness and despair in her chest, some of the old hopelessness reasserting itself.

She rubbed the back of her hands against her eyes, brushing away unspent tears, and looked at the opening to the courtyard ahead. Was there any chance they could even get through it? What if it was as bad as the hordes of ratmen? Could they win through an encounter like that without Ward?

“I saw something move up there,” she muttered.

Lali slung Ward’s pack over one shoulder, adding it to her already enormous load. “Well, one of you soft-foots ought to check things out.”

Trent nodded. “I think this is the best route toward the tree. We should keep heading that way, don’t you think?”

“Was that the direction the, um, roc took Ward?” Haley asked, realizing she had no sense of bearing after her charge through the garden. She’d lost sight of the great bird almost immediately. Had it turned?

“We’re not sure, sweet,” Lali replied. “The bird banked out of view, but it could have turned ten more times for all we know. Anyway, Trent’s right. If that tough bastard gets away from it, I’d wager he’ll head for the tree, expecting us to do the same.”

Haley nodded. Lali’s words made sense, but they sounded hollow to her. Neither she nor Trent believed Ward was alive; they were just humoring a stupid girl who’d almost run headlong into disaster.

Trent must have seen something in her expression because his eyes narrowed, and he said, “Listen, Miss Haley, why don’t you do your Gopah forms? I’ll take some time to scout that courtyard up there properly. I’ll need to move very slowly if there are beasts or monsters within.”

Haley shook her head, folding her arms. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Come on now, pretty.” Lali nudged her shoulder. “We’ll need you at your best with our big wolf-blooded leader missing.”

Haley jerked her shoulder away, but something made her look up at the woman, and when she stared into those piercing, utterly guileless blue eyes, she realized Lali wasn’t patronizing her. She was worried, too, but she was being strong for her. Something broke in her chest, then, and, as fresh tears began to stream from her eyes, she nodded. “I’ll do my forms.”