Gabrielle rose from her seat, hand already on her axe. It took every ounce of self-control she’d managed to muster not to draw the weapon and charge. As it was, she wouldn’t be surprised if her grip left fingerprints in the wooden shaft of the axe.
“The demons… it was you. You’re the reason the demons have been popping up all over the kingdom.”
“Yes, that was one side effect of using so much of The Bridge’s power,” Aldron admitted. “A terrible price that had to be paid. They slip past the world’s barriers, sent to unleash death upon areas where adventurers frequent, though even I don’t know who directs them.”
“What do you mean, ‘one effect’? What others did you unleash?” Thistle asked. His own ire was rising as well, his mind filled with memories of bloody bodies falling at his feet. Even if this mad wizard were actually right, no one deserved the sort of death Thistle had seen served up by those beasts.
Eric wanted to ask questions too, but he couldn’t quite make his tongue move. The artifact’s hold on him was growing. He felt as though his teeth were rattling from the vibrations of its song echoing through his body.
“Nothing as grand as the demons,” Aldron said. “I’ve only charted a few oddities, to be honest. The Bridge has not only blessed me with true enlightenment, but it has also given a lesser freedom to the minds of those in the realm. Adventurers seem shrouded by a magic that allows them to pass in our world without us realizing their foreign nature. The Bridge has shaken that magic, permitted a greater freedom of thought. Not enough to make everyone see the truth of what you are, but a little.”
“Just to be clear, you’ve unleashed unknown hordes of demons in exchange for what, exactly? Protection from adventurers, and a theoretical freeing of the kingdom’s minds?” Thistle got to his feet, hands resting on the hilts of his daggers. “You’d trade countless lives for that little? I think I speak for all of us when I say that your madness cannot be allowed to stand. Surrender now and pray the gods find a way you may seek repentance.”
“I was wondering when it would come to this,” Aldron said. “It was inevitable. You adventurers, you only know one way to live: through blood and blade.” The carvings on his staff began to glow a pale yellow, the color of his eyes. “But I am shielded by The Bridge, my mind suffused with the magical wisdom it has imparted. Go ahead, attack me uselessly. If you manage not to kill yourselves, I’ll happily finish the job. By all means, give it your best shot.”
Thistle, always one to oblige a host, yanked free a dagger from his belt and whipped it forward. It whirled through the air and sank right into the wizard’s fat gut.
Aldron looked in shock from the dagger to Thistle, to The Bridge, and back to the dagger. When he next raised his eyes, all jovial disdain was gone, replaced by pure, naked hatred.
“How… what are you?”
23.
Confused as he might have been, Aldron didn’t waste any time reacting to the new knowledge that he was no longer entirely protected by his Bridge. The hefty elven wizard lifted his staff overhead and slammed it down on the floor, releasing a shockwave that sent all but Grumph to the ground. It also conjured a hefty burst of smoke that clouded the area, watering eyes and obscuring vision.
“How did you hit me?” Aldron’s screams pierced the choking clouds and bounded off the walls. “Was it luck? Some artificial power? Tell me!”
“Just that good, I guess,” Thistle called from his nearly prone position on the ground. Though normally skilled at scrambling to his feet, the armor was slowing him significantly. As it was, he’d barely made it back to standing when a bolt of lightning zipped out and struck the floor where he’d been. The magical charge cleared away some of the smoke, giving him a clear visual on Aldron’s face, now flushed red with fury.
“You will tell me what magic you used to cheat The Bridge.” Aldron raised his staff and another lightning bolt shot toward Thistle. The gnome was almost able to dodge: almost, but not quite, as it struck his right shin squarely. Sheer force spun him through the air, and he landed in a heap. He was still conscious, albeit barely.
Aldron might have pressed the attack if not for the large axe swung at his head by an angry young woman in armor the color of blood. He deflected it with a raised hand, calling a near-transparent magical shield into existence just in front of him. If Gabrielle even noticed it, she paid no mind, pounding forward like a hellhound set on dragging some soul to the pits. As Aldron readied another spell, he felt the sting of ice strike his shoulder. A quick glance confirmed that the half-orc had cast a cold spell at him.
Eric crept up behind Aldron, staying as silent as he could, which was impressively so. The blast had partially snapped him out of the trance he’d fallen under when gazing at The Bridge. He could still hear it, still feel it, really, humming and pulsing like the blood in his veins. It was there, but it no longer overwhelmed him, meaning he could focus on things like aiding his friends. With every inch, he readied himself more, keeping his breathing steady, shifting his sword to his left hand so that he could stab from a better angle. He was drawing close to Aldron, only a few steps away from being able to sink his blade into the wizard’s ample flesh, when his whole body vibrated with a command from The Bridge.
Stop
It wasn’t a word, wasn’t a sensation, wasn’t a command; it was a fundamental aspect of existence. Eric could no more have disobeyed the order than he could have halted a sunrise. His entire body froze in place, and just in time.
Aldron, tired of fending off Grumph and Gabrielle, slammed the butt of his staff to the ground once more. This time, the concussion was not just force; it was ice and darkness as well. It blasted the area around him, coming only inches away from Eric before the magic subsided. Gabrielle was on the ground, bleeding from several wounds, and Grumph had been hurled into a wall. He was on one knee, and from the way his head bobbed about, it was evident he’d gotten a bell-ringing.
Quickly surveying the room, Aldron realized that Eric was still standing, locked in place mere inches outside the blast zone.
“How did you… you couldn’t have… adventurers can’t hear it.” Aldron whipped his staff around and a surge of black chains flew from the top. Eric jumped back instinctively, but they managed to wrap around his left arm, pinning it and his sword to the ground mere feet away from the pillar where The Bridge rested. “Impossible. But better to examine you, just in case.” Aldron’s muttering seemed to be growing more insane by the minute, a fact that wasn’t lost on any of the still-conscious party members.
Eric struggled against his shackles, trying in vain to find a way to free himself. It was no good; his arm and weapon were completely locked into place. While he yanked on the chains pointlessly, he felt a now-familiar surge in his body as The Bridge’s melody called to him. It was telling him to do something again. Eric understood the request, but not the reason behind it. Then again, the last order it gave had probably saved his life, so he reasoned it might be best to give the magical artifact the benefit of the doubt.
He pressed his hands to the ground, the hard stone pushing on the knuckles of his left hand where the sword’s hilt was chained in his clutches, and shoved himself upward. It wasn’t a lot of lift, and in seconds, Eric would crash back to the ground, but in that brief moment where his hind quarters were in the air, Eric had a slim window for action. He took it, striking out with his right leg and kicking The Bridge squarely off its pedestal.