Murder the Heroes

Chapter One; Section Three

The magic of ring competing with the power of the portal twisted reality yet further. Coil was pulled ever tauter in the magic’s tug-of-war. Hot agony contorted him and tore the memories away. He tried to scream, but there was nothing to scream with. His perception crystalized and for a moment everything, every nook and cranny of the capital, was made clear to him, as if seen from a thousand perspectives. Violence was everywhere. He saw prisoners using surprise to overcome their more heavily armoured opponents. There where surprise wasn’t enough, groups were resorting to kidnapping and chaos, even as others – like the goblins – chose the better part of valour and retreated underground.

 But then, everybody had their roles to play.

The most common sight of all though, was his friends and allies dying. Here magic overwhelmed meagre defences. There, prisoners were cut down by a cavalry charge. And through it all waded the Krull, raining icy death upon any who stood in their way. The Shroud had no answer to their magics and those who were too slow or too brave could do nothing but die. And he couldn’t do a thing. All he had was the hope that they were brave enough to take their own lives rather than be captured and tortured. Death, he had told them, was the better choice. But suicide was the enemy of hope and hope was a hard thing to kill. 

Just as the misery of watching his people die was becoming too much something snapped and he shot away. The city disappeared in a blur beneath him. He could feel himself both accelerate and somehow get smeared out over the entire trajectory of his flight. Then things changed again. Something seemed to drag at him and he started to slow down, even as his body took on more ordinary dimensions. Though that might have sounded like an improvement, it wasn’t much of one, for he’d come back to normal twisting in so many directions that he had no way to know left from right or up from down.

Later on he would reflect on how lucky he’d been not to have ended up so high that he’d plummeted to his death or so low that he’d broke every bone on impact. His speed, however, was another matter. He still had a fair bit of that when he snapped back to normality.

He described a beautifully arched screaming parabola right until it ended abruptly as he and the ground got reacquainted. He hit the sand hard, bounced a few times and then settled into a roll that had him tumbling and protesting all the way down to the bottom of a dune. The sand was the fine kind – almost like dust – and it got in everywhere, his eyes, his ears, his mouth and his ass crack too. When he’d finally come to a stop his sneezing and coughing fit had only just begun. He didn’t have enough fists to rub at his eyes, his tongue and his nose at the same time.

Everything hurt. He checked himself and marvelled that nothing was broken. Then he checked his surroundings. That put a dampener on things. He found himself in a valley of black sand, devoid of life, devoid – in fact – of any discerning characteristic whatsoever. The only variation he could see was the path of his descent down the dune and the wind was already doing its best to erase those marks. He was filled with foreboding. It didn’t lessen any when he climbed back up the way he’d come.

“Fuck,” he said. In all directions the black hills marched on, without break, without change – dune after dune of fine black sand and nothing else. “Are you shitting me?” There was no response. He reached out with his Othersense, to see if he’d missed something. He rubbed at his eyes. Was he seeing this correctly? Normally when in Othersight the world was a pattern of magical auras and interconnections, as different from normal as sight as taste was from smell. Not today. There was no magic here – like it had actually been stripped away, torn from the soil, ripped from the air.

His heart sank. There was only one place this could be. He was in the Hollows – a place devoid of life, devoid of magic. Every student of the Arts learned about them. It served as a lesson as to what happened when you broke the rules. An ancient empire had been built here. It had learned forbidden secrets and reached too high. This had been the result.

After sending his senses chasing the wind and finding nothing but dead sand, he sent them inwards. The mana had worn off. He checked the pendant around his neck, hoping against hope that there was still some power left within it, so that he might transport himself from these lands, but found it empty. He’d known it was. It was like checking for your coin pouch after you realised it had already been stolen – a futile instinct that still had to be obeyed.

Fortunately there was still some power in the other charms and trinkets scattered about his person. None of them could hold half as much as the pendant – in fact, they were more trinkets than charms – but a thirsty man didn’t stop himself from checking any containers for water just because they were the size of thimbles.

There was still some energy there, scattered among the objects. That was fortunate. Very fortunate, in fact, for though there wasn’t even close to enough to get him out of here, at least he wouldn’t die of thirst. For a time he considered whether he had enough power left to contact Fortwo – maybe he shouldn’t get in touch, at least for a bit. Conserve his power. Enjoy the solitude. After all, he’d spent enough time off late with the daemon.

It seemed like a good idea for a time, as he sat in the hill’s shade, digging furrows with his heels. Then his mind began to wander, and whatever path it took it always ended up in the same place – with her. For a time he battled. But whoever said that magic was the strongest force in the universe had never been in love. With the Darkberry leaf fading fast he knew he needed distraction. Suddenly he was eager for contact. Suddenly he wanted Fortwo to tell him what to do. He reached out. It wasn’t hard to get the Daemon’s attention.

“Where are you?”

“The Hollows”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“They won’t be able to find you there.”

“That’s true,” he hadn’t thought about that, “Why aren’t you surprised?”

“I couldn’t be certain, but chances were good that your journey would be interrupted by a place of so little magic.”

That seemed reasonable, “But how can it ever be good that I’m in the Hollows?”

“There’s somewhere I need you to go.”

Coil suppressed a sigh. “Is that right?”

“Yes. Follow these directions,” and with that Coil suddenly knew what the creature wanted. It cut the connection.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” Coil muttered morosely, fully aware Fortwo couldn’t hear him. He looked out over the desert; watched the endless hills marching on like defeated soldiers in an endless retreat. All right, so it was good he couldn’t be found out here – but that was, Coil felt, where his luck ended. He should have stayed at the battle. At least there he would have been able to help. At least there he wouldn’t have had time for dark thoughts. Instead he was stuck in the middle of a fucking desert with nothing but his memories for company. He shook his head and chided himself. Would have, should have, could have. Couldn’t change what already was. And with that he started walking, his thoughts already roaming down unwanted paths.

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