Interlude – Running Free
Algol was terribly nauseated. The world – either of origin or destination – was spinning wildly. Its balance was lost and it started falling on the ground despite its efforts to decelerate the descent with its wings. It kept falling having no idea to which direction; sometimes it was given the idea that it’s been falling upwards. When it finally stopped, something worse than that came. It thought someone held it on the ground or stepped on it with a large boot. It struggled to stand up. It felt heavy and it felt hot! It opened its eyes to pinpoint the source of heat only to shut them again because of a light as strong as of continual lightening bolts. Curse the gods! Magog broke free! For a moment it had the absurd impression that it did not make it to the portal at all, that the world had started dying and that the times of destruction had hauled the moon of lightnings – Magog – upon them. But Magog had not collided on Brumenghal and the light did not come from a shower of thunderbolts.
It lay on the ground helpless, defenceless, waiting to return to the ever-stirring pools of essences whence it had been created. A few moments later, when its senses and reason had returned and the irrevocable end did not seem to come anytime soon, it tried to creep, testing its movements, fluttering its wings. It felt heavier indeed. It opened its eyes to realize it could see almost nothing. The light was dreadful, its eyes stung and the only thing it could make out was a few grey figures. It turned around painfully to spot a shadow, somewhere it could hide. And it saw it. A spot of blackness smudging the white curtain that had been drawn in front of its face. Into its fuzziness, it remembered that the other worlds included a steady source of light often called sun or star. It never expected it would be that intense!
It stood with great difficulty and staggered blindly stretching its hands, like a somnambulist, to the direction the blackness seemed to grow wider. A few long moments later, it found itself touching cold stone and entering the solace of a cave. Its vision partly returned and its pace became a bit firmer, as it started to adapt at the new plane’s gravity. Damn its education! Damn all these decades it had spent locked in the endless libraries of the brotherhood! None of these could have prepared it for the hostile place it had to get used itself to. It walked until the light of the entrance was a spot as small as the blackness of the cave had been when it first found itself under the excruciating rays of the sun. Algol sat leaning against the wall of the cave, spreading its wings on the smooth rock to cool down, and studied its situation.
It glanced further in the cave. A human would be unable to see anything at all in this darkness. An elf maybe would be able to walk without bumping on anything. A dark elf would walk around normally as if in plain sunlight, though their glittering eyes would give away their position. But Algol could do more than that. It could see the interior of the cave in every direction until the sight was obscured by blocking boulders or turnings of the cavern corridors, it could easily tell the depth of its standing spot by touching the cool wall, it could estimate the depth of a gaping crevice by feeling the pulse of the rock as if it whispered to it, it could even breathe the thick, sulphur-filled air of the earth’s bowels when every living being would suffocate before getting even halfway. This place could become a new home. If only it could get used to this burdensome gravity… Algol rose, decided to explore the cavern further.
♦
Algol had been walking for two days, its few supplies almost finishing but it certainly forgot its fatigue and hunger as soon as it saw the vastness of the cavern – although it could call it a cavern no more. It’s walls and ceiling was lost even to its piercing darkvision. It reminded it so much of the Rift and the Abyss. For a moment, it even thought an abyssal would appear to welcome it. There were pathways, mountainsides and peaks, wells that led further downwards…
Sudden sounds of clinging metal made Algol turn abruptly to face a band of six unknown creatures. The creatures were standing in formation, one ahead, another on its left slightly more rear, three right behind them in a line and one behind them all. None of them moved. Only the two in the front made sounds Algol supposed it was their language. A language so crude and uneven that it seemed to Algol they spoke with effort. The creatures were dark skinned, almost like itself. They were shorter, slender and muscular at the same time with thin characteristics. It reckoned it knew their kind. Elves they were! The one in the front wore black leather armour and held a longsword and a punch dagger. It probably was the leader. The next one, like the two at the sides of the line, wore dark grey plate mails and yielded two-handed swords, the one in the middle of the three wore chain mail and held a spiked weapon he had never seen before. The last one at the back wore only a red robe. He held a dark blue staff and kept one hand under the garments. A magic user!
Algol opened its mouth to speak and watched the creatures’ eyes open wide in fear and astonishment. Its voice boomed among the caverns and flowed in a continual sound that seemed to have no separate words, no question marks, no commands. If waterfalls spoke, this would be their language. It was like chanting and by the tightening grip of the mage’s hand, it seemed that the creature expected to see the results of unknown arcane power. But nothing happened. Algol smiled at them -but most likely, they didn’t understand that this twisting of its alien face was a smile – and mused at their fear. Time had perfected a language that was born dozens of millennia ago for the abyssals prided their lineage originated at the first Brumen species, back at the age of law. There could be no way they could communicate with it. The creatures seemed to realise that as well because in the blink of an eye, their leader cried something incomprehensible and the sword wielders surged forward.
Algol surged as well but not forward. It pushed itself to fly up –with an effort, truth be told- while drawing its wing-cutter. Holding the jaws of the falchion-shaped weapon closed with both hands, it darted down again towards the spellcaster who was currently murmuring a spell and before anyone could react, it dealt a single blow separating the head from the body. But it had to land back-turned to its enemies and the wielder of the strange weapon hit it on the base of its neck (the creature obviously couldn’t reach higher). Algol felt its cool blood on its back, inside its ring mail shirt. It turned outraged and released the clasp of the hilt with a trained movement, opening the wind-cutter in front of the creature’s startled eyes. The parting blades made everyone hesitate, giving Algol the opportunity to thrust the smaller scissor blade in the abdomen of its attacker. Three to go, it thought. The leader charged but the leader wasn’t whom Algol wanted to kill. It flew upwards again and started descending at the rear of the pack but it seemed that they had already learnt a lesson and they shifted quickly to stand back to back, forming a circle. To its horror, they left their swords and drew longbows and arrows. Arrows were very dangerous. They could shred wings and pierce through the plumage, sending a flyer to a fatal or at least painful tumble. This would be a face-to-face confrontation then, thought Algol and dived hurriedly before the warriors had time to retake their swords…
♦
Algol wished it could say the leader how much pleasure their pack gave it, but it probably wouldn’t understand or it wouldn’t want to understand. Smiling wouldn’t help, as they hardly seemed to understand this either. The leader laid on the ground wounded, blood dripping from the nose. Algol stood there just watching, entertained by the anticipation of death that was shadowing the creature’s eyes. But Algol stayed the killing blow. The creature had long silvery white hair and a swollen chest. Algol remembered – by the vampires it had met possess this characteristic – that this should be a female. Other species usually belonged to sexes and vampires retained the sex of the host after they were brought across.
It stepped closer and the creature cringed. It stretched a friendly hand but the female averted its face. Algol kneeled, placed slowly its wing-cutter in front of her. The female looked at it idly at first. Then, with a sudden move, she grabbed the weapon, which -to her dismay- was too heavy for her to hold. It fell immediately, blades open. Algol laughed loudly, a stern, coarse laugh that ended in a roar. Then it outstretched its hand and touched the female’s leather armour. In the centre of her chest was embedded a silver buckle with a carved spider. It caressed it then brought its palm to its own chest. The female’s eyes shone with surprise and understanding.
