He worked on the technique for several hours, but made little headway. It felt as if there was an invisible wall blocking him in his attempt to master it. His master watched the entire time, silently observing the trial, offering a few tips here and there.
Marcius really hated it when the dwarf did that. He always felt as if he had to meet his master's expectations then and the watchful eye added a lot of pressure. He was just about to ask to take a break when he noticed a change in his master's demeanor. The dwarf hastily stood up, straining as if to hear something that only he could sense.
"Master. . . " Marcius began, a tad bit alarmed. With a single upraised hand, Antaigne silenced him, still listening intently.
Antaigne finally turned around, a fire lit in his eyes that Marcius had never seen before. He seemed excited. ""Sorry 'bout this Marcius, but it be not fer you" Marcius had no time to react as the dwarf made a simple pass of his hands. Marcius's eyes became heavy and he struggled to keep them open.
""W-why?" he managed to mumble as his feet gave way, his knees buckling, pitching him face first to the floor. The last thing he saw was Antaigne's wizened face looking apologetically down at him.
❧ ❧ ❧
". . . and that is what I remember." Marcius finished with a small sigh.
He watched as his friend took a few moments to digest what he said. "Alright, what about afterwards? You said that your p-. . . familiar. . . somehow told you what happened after?"
It seemed to Jared as if Marcius's tale opened more questions than it answered. Hopefully Marcius could tie up all the loose ends.
"Faerril isn't old enough to tell me what happened." Marcius must have seen Jared's questioning look, but he plowed on before the swordsman could ask it. "He showed me what happened with paintings."
"Paintings?"
"Yes, in my mind. His memories. I can see them." Marcius sighed. "It's the only way that I can explain it. He must have been waiting until I found him, so he could show me what happened."
Jared nodded, not fully understanding, but taking his friend's word on it anyway. "Well, tell me what you saw."
Okay, after he used the sleep spell on me. . . "
❧ ❧ ❧
The stocky figure of a dwarf was mere silhouette in the door. Eight other figures, some on the ground and a few hovering gently in the air, caught the attention of Marcius's sleeping familiar. They wore red and white matching robes. The colors of the Academy.
The dwarf stepped out from the shadows and his face was dark and serious. The two groups approached each other respectfully.
Words, garbled and incoherent to the Faerril who had hidden himself on a nearby branch, were exchanged. They seemed cold, methodical. This was business. They struck fast and without warning, spells were flung; fire, ice, even things that Marcius did not recognize, flew through the air. But what he did notice, the men, hooded and unrecognizable, were being foolish. The spells hit an invisible barrier that surrounded Antaigne, fizzling instantly. This dwarf was not caught as helpless as his assailants thought!
The nether swarmed around Antaigne, heeding his call, forming his will. The lion's head door knocker answered his summons and sprung to life, straining itself from the door like it was stuck in mud, each heave was punctuated with an ear splitting roar. A few seconds later, a full body emerged and it grew. Larger and larger, until it towered above the participants. The ruby red eye glowed as it struck immediately, a whirlwind of silver fury amidst the calm, flashing in the midday sun.
The dwarf continued to cast, dodging or absorbing the various quick casts the eight, obviously wizards, threw at him. His fingers move with inhumane speed through the sigils, and he muttered the incantations just as fast.
The lion was a golem, an inanimate object enchanted with mimicry of life and the will to serve; it brought devastation within their ranks. They had not expected such a quick response. They already lost two of their members. One fried by a reflected firestorm, another still quivering, torn open and left to die by the lion.
The momentum was shifting though. The dwarf had lost his advantage of surprise. They might have underestimated him at first, but the attacks were more measured now, not overextending in an attempt at a quick kill.
The silver skin of the lion reflected most of their attempts to restrain it, and the bright ruby eyes absorbed the destructive spells cast his way. A hail of rocks, each the size of a horse, rained down on the battlefield, a desperate bid for time that could be dangerous to friend and foe alike. One of huge boulders smashed into the cottage. Remarkably, the dwelling was not damaged much, as a slight glimmer of magic could be seen as the stone cascaded off the roof like a mere drop of water.
Antaigne's enchantments could not hold back the barrage forever though, for the boulders continued to rain down and the dwarf was busy having to fend off the various other spells being conjured frantically by his foes. The shield protecting the cottage gave a great shudder and collapsed in a hail of sparks, igniting the wooden portions as the building collapsed in on itself. Antaigne's gaze hardened. Marcius was okay, Faerril knew, but the dwarf did not know this.
Antaigne shouted something, still incoherent to the eavesdropping familiar. The ground shook and the sky roared in response. Energy tore the atmosphere and swirled into a huge ball of white hot lightning, crackling and energizing the very air around it. Three wizards were fried as the energy cut through them, they didn't even have a chance to scream. Another, failing to react in time, missed the counter spell and was caught in Antaigne's paralysis spell.
The lion, finally managing to shrug off the chains of pure nether the wizards cast upon him, wasted no time in ending the trapped wizard's life, his jaws clamping over the head with a crunch of finality. It roared in triumph, crimson trails of blood streaming down the maw and soaking the soft earth.
The remaining two wizards continued casting, the threat of death cloaking their motions. It was an exercise in futility. Their spells were countered, the subtle strands of magic unraveled like child's play, and they were trapped as well. The lightning ball and the cat moved, ready to strike and end the confrontation when a thick, black mist covered them both.
Antaigne was quick to dispel it, and when the fog lifted, the lightning was no more. Only the slight energy that permeated the air gave any indication that it had once existed. On the ground the fierce lion was a simple door knocker once more, inert and lifeless. Both had been snuffed back into the nether from where they came.
The dwarf was on the run now, into the forest, leaving what was left of his home behind him. Faerril hurried to follow, flitting from branch to branch like a cat, eager to perhaps assist or at least bear witness for his master.
Instead of two wizards, there were now four. One bore red, the other chose black. They had a different aura about them. These were a definite level above the other ones. They were obviously the ones who dispelled the summons.
Antaigne's flight was careful and measured, not so much as one of panic, it was the retreat of someone running for a purpose. Away from the clearing he led them, deep into the forest. The nether was in turmoil here, forever churning and raging, invisible to the naked eye. The Fae'lorea seemed to have a life of its own that even extended into the magic realm. A rich source to draw power from.
Finally, the dwarf skidded to a stop and spun around, hand already moving through the motions for a spell. With a small metal wire in hand, a spell component; he threw a quick cast arc of lightning as a distraction. It jumped from the red wizard, who already erected a shield in response, to the black wizard, only to be absorbed by an amulet in the wizard's hand.
All five lapsed into their own casting, each furiously trying to complete it before their opponent did. Four energy trails streamed from the black robed wizard's finger tips, only to slam into a huge stone back.
Another golem, this one made of solid rock, was summoned into fruition from the very forest floor the combatants stood on, the dwarf was quick to strengthen it with enchantments, weaving them into the body as one would knit an article of clothing. He made sure it would not be as simple to banish this creation. The skin of the golem took on a metallic, almost obsidian sheen as it hardened with each pass of the dwarven wizard's hands. It had the vague countenance of a dwarf, massive forearms, legs as thick as solid oak trunks; it held a mighty hammer in each hand, made of the very stone as the rest of its body.
The wizard clad in full red held a similar notion, for he too summoned a golem from the nether to fight by his side. It stepped out of a swirling green and black mass of nether that he had created to serve as a portal to this realm. The wizard's golem was vastly different in stature from the dwarf's creation.
It was made of rotting flesh, poorly sewn together, a seeming mismatch of parts and functions that were bloated and already turning purple. The one blood shot eye, in the middle of the mouthless face, swirled erratically, and the stench of putrid flesh decaying in the hot sun hung in the air like a blanket. The ends of the arms and feet tapered into bloody stumps. Sharp, talon-like shards of bleached white bone served as makeshift fingers and toes, held together and animated by the sheer force of the wizard's magic. It moved in a herky-jerky fashion, as if unsure of exactly what it was capable of. In this manner, it charged with a low moan, which was odd for it had no mouth.