Kerrigan groaned. The invocation of the protective spell also shredded the weaving of the night vision spell. The armor took precedence and was cast subconsciously. Its urgency demanded all of his abilities, so the delicate spell he’d been working on evaporated.
He began to cast it again, but before he could complete the working another stone clipped him.
“Hey!”
The sound that replied almost convinced him that there was a temeryx present. It started as a hiss, then descended into a mad little laugh. It alternated between serpentine sibilance and a giggle. Kerrigan found nothing benign about it. A shiver slithered up his spine, then he levered himself up on his left elbow and twisted around to sit facing the location of the sound.
The chain on his feet stopped him short of his goal.
The undulating sound stopped for a moment, then another rock smacked Kerrigan square in the chest. It rebounded to his lap. After a moment’s bob-bling, the magicker grabbed it, then raised his right hand back to throw it.
The chain rattled, but before he could start to throw, the chain was yanked hard.
The stone flew off into the darkness as Kerrigan spun around to the right. Another yank on the foot chain continued to spin him on his bare rump across the floor, and no bony plates appeared to save him the chafing abrasions. Tipping off-balance, he rolled, tangling his legs in the chain, and finding himself suddenly half-buried nose first in a bed of dry straw.
He pulled his head up, then sneezed violently, smacking his forehead into the ground. The straw did cushion the blow, but the magick didn’t stop him from hurting himself. “Ow!” He rolled onto his back and brought his hands up to his forehead, whacking his jaw with the left manacle in the process.
He felt the lump growing on his forehead and the tightness of the chains on his legs. The hissed giggling continued, at a higher pitch now, and another rock clicked off his thigh. Instinctively he turned to the right to protect himself, but another rock hit his stomach hard. He twisted away from that line of attack, got hit again, then rolled away and landed on a rock that jabbed him good and solidly in the back.
“OW!” He arched his back and dug away at the stone. Grasping it in both hands, he pushed himself up onto his right hip and went to raise his hands to throw it, but with his legs bound he flopped over awkwardly. To make matters worse yet another stone skipped off his head, sending a hideously sharp sound through his skull.
He ducked his head and pulled his legs up. He had to get free, but the only way he could do that would be by using a spell. The rocks kept invoking the armor, which destroyed any spells he was trying to cast. I’ll have to cast the spell very fast. He frowned. Faster than I’ve ever cast a spell before.
He went through a catalogue of spells he could use to get the shackles off. Most involved heating the metal until it melted, which would have melted his hands off as well. He knew there were some basic lock-picking spells, but he’d never been taught them. This had not prevented him from fashioning some of his own, based on healing spells. A diagnostic spell would show him how the lock had been constructed, then a modified levitation spell would let him manipulate the pieces of the lock to open it.
These shackles cant be that different in construction than a door lock.
He gathered himself to cast the diagnostic spell quickly, but the rocks kept coming in a steady stream. He tried to ignore them, but it didn’t matter. The I magick meant to save his life was preventing him from escaping. There is nothing I can do!
Howling with frustration, he raised the rock in his right hand and smashed it down on the manacle on his left wrist. It rang loudly and produced a quick spark that died on the prison’s damp stone floor. The light hadn’t been much, revealing only grey stone and blond straw chaff, but he had seen it.
The rocks stopped flying.
It took Kerrigan a moment or two to accept that this was truly the case. Once he did, he smiled and started to cast the diagnostic spell.
Thwock!
“Stop it!”
“Soppit, soppit, soppit…” The sibilant voice repeated the mocking word in a pitiful tone. The origin point for the voice shifted around and around, with little clicks occasionally accompanying it, as his tormentor circled him. “Soppit, soppit, soppit.”
Kerrigan again tried to cast a spell, but a rock stopped him. He tried again and again, hoping that one rock might miss him and he might get his spell to work, but at that range his assailant never missed. In fact, from the high angle of some of the attacks, Kerrigan knew the invisible creature had raced in and hurled the stone down at him.
Not being stupid, Kerrigan realized that he wasn’t going to cast a spell unless he had respite from the stones. The only time he stopped was… Quickly the magicker hammered a manacle with a stone. It rang loudly, but the stones still came. Kerrigan hit it again, glancing it, and striking a spark.
The rocks stopped and silence again reigned.
Kerrigan hit the manacle again and another spark ignited. No stone flew. The youth allowed himself a smile that broadened quickly. With his left hand he swept straw dust into a little pile and struck a spark into it.
The spark survived just long enough for a small thread of smoke to drift up.
Again and again Kerrigan pounded the manacle with the rock. It didn’t matter to him that the glancing blows tore at his skin. His wrist was soon slick with blood, but still he struck, flicking spark after spark into his pile of tinder. He blew gently on it, getting sparks to glow brightly before they died. He learned now to avoid scattering the tinder, and between sparks he grabbed straw and crumbled it into more dust.
The hail of stones had stopped, but Kerrigan didn’t give a thought to casting a spell. Somehow the creature knew when he was invoking magick. How, he didn’t care. He just wanted the torment to stop, and it had. He didn’t know if the creature was afraid of fire, or fascinated by it; but if producing it would keep the thing occupied, he was determined to do it.
As he worked he thought back to the Okrannel campaign and the trip south from Fortress Draconis. Though Kerrigan knew very well the spell that would kindle fire, he’d not been allowed to do it on the trip. Orla had not wanted him to become some hedge-wizard in the eyes of the soldiers. On the retreat from Fortress Draconis the princess had noted that he had more important things to be doing than worrying about making fires since others could do that.
Others could. He’d even watched children kindle fires. Yet here I am, and I can’t do that. He wished he’d watched more closely, for it would have made the whole task easier. Still, as smart as he was, he slowly reconstructed the procedure.
Finally, a spark caught. He blew gently on it and got embers. Another breath and a little flame popped into life. Kerrigan fed a small piece of straw into it, then another. Carefully, gently he fed it, letting it grow. The fire ate the straw quickly, so he twisted stalks and knotted them to make them burn more slowly.
He smiled when he felt heat. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind him how cold he was. Still, it was heat, and there was light, some real light. Staring across the fire limited his vision, but he caught faint hints of the walls and clearly saw the iron ring into which his chains had been slipped.
Kerrigan sat up, his smile very broad as his little fire guttered merrily.
A wave of magick swept into the room. Kerrigan felt it and tried to study the spell, but its complexity defied casual observation. The spell sank into the chains that held him and locked their links. The chains tightened on his legs and held his arms to his thighs.
A very cool and low voice spoke from above and behind him. “Very good, Adept Reese, you have learned your first lesson. Magick is not life.”