To read the previous adventures of Sabine, click here. To support us on Patreon, click here. The story continues below. Macington closed the distance across the courtyard in a few quick bounds. Sabine ran to
To read the previous adventures of Sabine, click here. To support us on Patreon, click here. The story continues below.
Macington closed the distance across the courtyard in a few quick bounds. Sabine ran to try breaking through the encircled crowd, but she stuttered to a stop when the massive head of the flail smashed into the ground in front of her. The mountain of a man whipped the weapon back up, and the rumble it produced knocked Sabine off her feet. As he whirled around and swung with the spiked head again, Sabine deflected his next strike with the athame, stood up, and slashed toward him, the evil tome still held under the pit of one arm. Macington blocked the hit with the handle of the flail and the two locked in a clash. Were it not for the amplifying properties of the blade, Sabine surely would have broken bones just holding the giant at bay.
For the moment, the struggle to hold him back just left her trying to stabilize her breathing. Through heavy lungfuls, Sabine said, “Look, I know you’ve got a grudge, but this is important—”
“Is that what you told my brother?” Macington leaned in close enough to snarl. Rather incongruously, his breath smelled of mint. “That you, a wench serving in his armory, had to do something more important than keep him protected?” He wrapped one of his burly hands tight around Sabine’s neck and smashed her against the floor. Silfde and his friends cheered and whooped as the grip threatened to crush her windpipe.
Come on, get it together, Dahkhal said. Use the book if you can’t get in a clean slash. Evil tomes like that always have tricks for playing dirty.
Her body racked with pain, spasms running down her arm, Sabine forced open the book to a random wood pulp page but had only bare hope she’d turn to the right wood pulp page. With tears in her eyes, she squinted and used her waning oxygen to recite, “Let me be, I’m not yours for the lickin’. Release me now, choke your own chicken!”
Ordinarily a rite or some internal magic would be required to turn the words into a proper spell. But Sabine felt a reserve of Queen Orchid’s power drain from the athame in a channel. The little river magic flowed down the weapon, through one hand, into the book, and a blast of force repelled Macington from her throat. The giant stumbled backwards and lost the grip on his flail. Sabine shoved herself upward and thrust toward him with the athame. Macington sidestepped the strike just enough to only catch a nick on his shoulder from the red of the fairy-infused blade. The hit did make his face tighten. With the instinct of a man who did tricks like this regularly, the giant took ahold of the blade, intent to yank it out. But he jerked the hand away after he made contact, as if the blade forced him away.
“Yeah, how about that?” Sabine said. “You can’t grip it by the blade. Now just let me explain and I’ll—”
Macington tilted his body to the side and threw a roundhouse kick into Sabine’s gut. The force of the blow both brought a scream out of her and knocked her away, the athame slipped from the giant’s shoulder as she did. Sabine careened into one of Silfde’s mead barrels before she finally came to a painful stop. With a stretch of his wounded arm, Macington seemingly warded off the pain in his bloody shoulder, gripped his flail again, and advanced.
As Sabine started to flip through the book again, she shouted, “Hey, come on, Silfde! If he swings that stupid thing again, he’s going to smash up your keg.”
“I have a spell for that.” Silfde sat again at his throne and fumbled about for his father’s tome. When he remembered Sabine was still holding it, he called, “Oy, Flailock, don’t damage that book, please. Still need it.”
As Macington lumbered toward her, Sabine started to flip through the tome again. As she did, she asked Dahkhal, “What about teleporting spells? Can I find any of those in here?”
Teleporting is utter fiction, Dahkhal said. Like gnomes or morally justified monarchies.
She started flipping faster. “I’ve seen you teleport before!”
I never teleported: I turned my body into a fine mist and then moved at an accelerated pace via air currents.
Sabine wanted to come up with an annoyed retort, but the encroaching terror of Macington forced her to look back at the book instead. “Like a donkey, I will not be quaking. Come at me now, my shield is unshaking.”
Another burst of power drained from the athame and wrapped Sabine in a translucent layer of magical armor. The swing of Macington’s flail smashed square into Sabine’s face, but the cover that surrounded her absorbed all of the impact and left her unharmed save for the annoying ka-rang it produced.
“Ha! There we go. I’m invincible.” Sabine let this declaration fly from her lips as she turned her focus back on the offensive. Unfortunately, an overpowering weight suddenly trapped her legs in place. “Wha—what the—”
That armor has no weak points or slack, Dahkhal said. You’re invulnerable, but it also means you can’t maneuver at all.
“Who wrote these stupid spells? What in the hells is this?” As Macington closed the distance, Sabine turned away from her frustration long enough to blow a raspberry in his direction.
Utterly undeterred, Macington took ahold of the invincible but frozen Sabine and lifted her off the ground. She squealed as he tucked her under his arm and trudged toward the fjord. “Excuse me, Mister Struct. Just going to toss this where it’ll suffocate.”
Silfde raised a hand in objection. “Hold up, she’s still got the book.”
Macington grunted. “Can’t get that until the spell comes loose. I don’t know. Suppose you could tie a rope about where the book will be and then pull—”
Sabine had to raise her voice to be heard over the discussion. “Damn it, come on, Von Macington, this isn’t right!”
With a scowl, the giant said, “Oh, it isn’t right, huh?”
“No. I mean, of course I should have given your brother those lambskins. But he could have just waited for someone else to bring it to him. No one was forcing him to lay with all those ladies.”
The courtyard went quiet for a moment. To her surprise, Sabine felt herself lowered so she was standing upright again.
At the same time as this, however, she heard Dahkhal as he mentally mimicked a sharp intake of breath. Oh, you stupid, stupid girl. You really don’t remember, do you?”
“Remember what?” Suddenly frantic, Sabine asked, “Remember what?”
Macington smashed into her armor with his flail again, and again he let off a loud, shrill ka-rang.
“A shaman put a curse on him, you contemptable witch!” He crashed into the armor layer again, and again Sabine shrieked as another burst of magic slipped from the athame. “He literally needed to relieve his loins on the daily, lest the spell overcome him. Every one of his employers was told that over—and—over—again!” With each over, he careened the head of the flail into Sabine.
Well, there you go. You’ve left him furious, Dahkhal said. Orchid’s magic will keep the shield up a bit longer, but eventually it will shatter. Your only hope is if his arms get tired before all that power burns out.
Another idea crossed Sabine’s mind in the midst of one of Macington’s swings, one that depended on the weight and shock-absorbing power tucked in one hand. She needed to time the moment just right, but at least one solution presented itself to her. As the infuriated Macington raised the flail over his head, Sabine commanded the flow from the athame stop. The invincible, immovable shield that surrounded her fell away. Sabine fell to one knee and raised Struct’s tome overhead.
Macington threw down the spiked head of the flail. The weapon smashed into the book with enough force to break through the fleshy cover and slice down through half of its pages, but the other half absorbed the blow. With the moment of confusion granted her, Sabine thrust forward with the athame and stabbed through Macington’s knee. The giant shouted and dropped to a kneel. As Sabine tossed aside the book, Silfde shouted, “No!” from up on his throne.
And, at the same time, Dahkhal asked, What have you done?
Sabine got as far as raising the athame again before she looked toward the ruined tome. One cursed page toward the back of the book shimmered again.
“Wait—no—but—” Sabine forgot Macington for the moment and grabbed it. While the first half of the book sat tattered, the page marked, The Ultimate Party remained unmarred. At the very bottom of the list of accepted rites, new words were written: In any great party, it is the oldest of tropes. Whatever father and mother find most dear, it shall be broke.
The tome shook and Sabine dropped it as it started to burn her hands. Silfde’s friends all stared at it in wonder and recited, “Ooooh” as bolts of black lightning burst out and struck them, one by one. The first of Silfde’s guests screamed on contact, but the sound was stymied a moment later. One after another, the flesh of those struck by the magical bolts took on a graying, sallow complexion, and their eyes ran orange like fire.
Silfde let off his own shout when one of the blasts struck him, his skin too rotted and his body jerked about. But, after a moment, it passed, and he stood straight. The frown of horror at his father’s destroyed book shifted to a wide, sinister grin.
“And there it is, my friends, we are now attending—no, we now are—the ultimate party. Now, who’s ready for another round?” He threw aside his goblet as he glared down at Sabine and an increasingly confused Macington. “Mead’s not gonna do it anymore—I want to drink their blood.”
To Be Continued…
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