Vicious Magick (16 page)

He creaks open the door to Zanther’s room,
and within seconds he has sliced open the mass he thought was
Zanther’s body, only to be hit by a shower of feathers.

Pillows.

Hearing the commotion in the room next door,
Zanther and Madra quickly get dressed and slip out the window onto
the roof of the veranda, taking turns dropping (un)gracefully to
the ground below.

Investigating the noises, Novanostrum flings
the door open only to be greeted by a flock of flying metal
projectiles zipping toward him at extreme velocities. He steels
himself, and the weapons bounce off him and fall to the floor. It’s
now when he notices the daemon assassin charging at him with some
sort of edge weapon, something on the order of a scimitar but with
all sorts of extra angles and points protruding from it.
Novanostrum holds up his wooden staff to counter the blow.

Novanostrum conjures a fireball and flings it
at the daemon, but the assassin conjures a bigger one, and they
meet in mid-air, causing the room to explode. The wizard is blasted
right through a window and onto the cold ground next to where
Zanther and Madra are standing. At the end of the street, they can
see Sogbottom packing his new wagon with supplies he is apparently
stealing from a closed shop. They pick up Novanostrum by his arms
and rush to the wagon.

“Time to go, is it?” Sogbottom asks.

The four of them roll down the path in
Sogbottom’s wagon. Novanostrum and Sogbottom are sitting on the
wooden bench, with Zanther and Madra sleeping inside (presumably)
on separate fold-out bunks.

“So how much farther is it to Port
San-torus?” Novanostrum asks.

“Maybe a three days’ ride,” Sogbottom says as
he takes a hit from a bottle of tonick.

“What’s in that stuff, anyway?”

“Little of this, little of that. Mostly
alcohol and a few choice herbs.”

“You got any more of it?”

“’Til I get to the Port to make more, this
bottle’s all I’ve got. Here, try some.”

Novanostrum takes a drag of the potent
potion, his eyes widen, he coughs, and tongues of flame shoot out
his nostrils.

“Neat trick,” Sogbottom says, impressed.

“So when do you plan on telling the other two
your little secret?”

Sogbottom scowls. “Not much gets past you,
does it, wizard? I gather they’ll figure it out when the time is
right.”

Phoebe and Demeter

The inhabitants of Upper Kleighton often
spend their nights gazing up at their two moons, Phoebe and
Demeter. Roughly the same size, they go through their phases at
different times, save for the rare night when they’re both fully
illuminated. This event, known as a ‘dual moon’ happens, on
average, once every six years.

That’s not to say that it happens every six
years, it would take a full-blown arithmancer to calculate with any
accuracy their orbits and phases. For example, there might be two
dual moons in one year, but the next one might not occur for ten
years. It’s not a random system, but it’s complex enough that it
might as well be.

As you might have guessed, there are all
sorts of superstitions tied to the occurrence of a dual moon. Lots
of couples have sex, for one. Perhaps believing the two shining
orbs to be representative of their union, or just looking for an
excuse, who knows?

Above them, a skyship plies its way across
the clear sky. The Longmeadow stretches out before them, its
monotony of tall grasses broken only by the occasional river or
tree. In the distance, they can see a cluster of tiny houses.

“We should stop and fuel up the horse,”
Sogbottom says.

There are five houses facing each other in a
pentagon. The houses themselves are tall triangles of plank wood
with rounded front doors. Tattered cloaks hang on the drying lines
connecting the houses. Sogbottom ties the horse to a post and
knocks on the nearest door.

There’s no answer.

Madra finds a pile of stuff next to the
marble fountain in the commons between the houses. There’s a barrel
of feed, a barrel of water, and a sack containing hard bread.
Attached to the barrel is a wooden placard which reads ‘Take what
you need’.

Zanther and Novanostrum try knocking on the
other doors, with no answer at any of the houses. The last house
they approach has a sign on the door which says, ‘Feel free to stay
in this house for the night’. They walk back to the others.

“So what do we do?” Madra asks.

“I vote we stay. Professor, your thoughts?”
Zanther says.

“It appears they have made their hospitable
intentions clear. I see no reason not to take them up on it.”

“I don’t like it,” Novanostrum says, “how do
we know they don’t have this all set up so they can rob people in
their sleep?”

“Nove,” Zanther says, “I’ve seen you kill
hundreds of ravenous monsters in one shot. Are you telling me
you’re afraid of some houses and a few barrels?”