Catalyst(64)

“Gods help me,” I whispered.

I let a small portion of my fire trickle into my finger until it lit up with a tiny flame. I sprinkled it with dirt from the floor, igniting it with earth mana as I recited a brief incantation in the old language. I glanced at the door, half-expecting Premier to feel the magic I was using. I waited several minutes, just in case, but he didn’t appear. I took a deep breath and retraced the web, using the greenish/red flame to disintegrate it, strand by strand.

It was slow and tedious work. If I rushed and messed up, the spell could backfire and magnify the web’s power a thousandfold. I could die from the backlash.

A sudden howling noise from above made me jump. I went perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe. If I had to stop this in the middle, I was doomed. Then I felt a breeze, and realized the noise was the wind, blowing across the arrow slits in the base of the tower, making its way down the stairs. It came again, and I relaxed, letting my breath out again.

Too late. The web glowed, and I felt its magic gathering force. I cursed myself. My flame had accidentally touched the wrong strand. The flames raced along the web, with me trying to extinguish them with my magic before the web could alert Premier. I finally got it out, but Premier could appear at any moment. The web hung in tatters, and it was only by luck that it hadn’t exploded in my face. At least the gaps in the web should make it easier to get rid of.

I had relaxed too soon. The web's crimson color deepened. I had a second to register what was going to happen, and got off an incantation just as the web unleashed its magic. A blinding, searing pain flashed up my right arm. I clenched my teeth so as not to cry out in pain. I worked a counterspell with my left hand, as the pain worked its way across my chest. The color faded from the web.

My arm hung numb and useless. I used my left to destroy the last remnants of the web, worried that Premier would come through the door at any second. I couldn’t put up a defense with one arm.

I finished demolishing the web, and Premier still had not appeared. I hesitated to open the door, once more picturing him standing behind it, ready to destroy me. But I hadn’t come this far to give up now. I carefully opened the door, staying behind it. A horrible stench hit me, and I bit my tongue to keep from coughing and gagging. There was no one behind the door, just an empty stone room with two more doors and more stairs. These doors didn't have webs on them, and I couldn't sense any more active magic. I picked a door and opened it slowly. One torch lit the gloomy hallway beyond. I was going to take a look around when I heard voices from downstairs.

I tip-toed down the stairwell, trying not to make a sound. Sensation returned to my right arm, although it still felt like it had been stuck with a thousand needles. I flexed my fingers, ready to cast spells again.

When I arrived at the bottom, I was in a short hallway. A few feet down on the right was a half-open door, from which voices came. Light spilled into the hallway from inside the room. I slipped down the hall as quietly as an elf, peeked around the corner, and froze.

In the corner of the room was a stone workbench strewn with chopped ogre limbs. Black blood overflowed the bench, dripping on the stone floor. At the end of the workbench sat an ogre’s head, forever frozen into a horrific, silent yell. Its skin was peeled back and the eyes were empty holes. Hanging against the wall above the workbench was the ogre’s massive torso. It had been cut open and the skin spread wide, revealing its enormous ribcage. The belly cavity was empty of organs.

Something moved in the shadows next to the workbench, and I realized it was another ogre. He was clothed in brown rags, and his tough, blotchy skin looked like a gray rock with lichen growing on it. At his feet was an enormous wooden club the size of a small elf. As I watched, the ogre reached into a bucket on the workbench and pulled out a long, slimy piece of intestine. He tilted his head back and lowered it into his mouth, smacking his lips like he ate a great delicacy. I turned my eyes away and pinched my nose, gagging.

I heard the ogre swallow his snack, and then he spoke. “Are you all right, Master?” I moved so I could see further inside, steeling myself for more disgusting sights. Instead, the rest of the room was perfectly clean and meticulously tidy. There was a wooden workbench with candles, rocks, chalk, a jug of water, and wax lined up on a tray. One wall held shelves of books, supplies, and containers, all in neat rows and organized by size.

Premier sat cross-legged in the middle of a chalk hexagram drawn in the middle of the floor. His eyes were closed and his face blank—his only movement was the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. I sensed him gathering magic in his meditation, but I couldn’t tell what he was doing with it. I saw no spell.