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Authors: Thomas M. Reid
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either.
“Bartimus!” Grozier snapped, drawing the wizard out of his thoughts.
“Um, yes?” he stammered, realizing that he had actually managed to daydream about daydreaming and thus missed his employer’s question.
“I said, let’s forget this for a moment and try something else. Can we peek in on someone else’s situation?”
“Why, yes,” Bartimus answered, mentally ticking off the number of applications of the scrying spell in his head. “I planned ahead and scribed the requisite spell several times, just in case you would desire me to perform several viewings at once.”
“Excellent,” Grozier said. “Let’s take a look at what
our good friend Vambran Matrell is up to. I wonder if he’s dead yet?”
Bartimus nodded and withdrew a small rolled parchment from a hidden pocket in his robes. Unfurling the thing, he began to call on the magic embedded in the script he had placed there, drawing on the arcane energies locked away in the phrases. He felt the swirl of magic surround him and pour from his hands into the mirror. As the spell took effect, a new image formed in the glass. At first, Bartimus could make out little more than a shifting, swarming light from some flame, with black figures silhouetted against the blaze. With a mental command, the wizard adjusted the point of view, drawing back from the image to get a more panoramic orientation.
Behind Bartimus, Grozier gasped. “What is that?” he asked, leaning down to better scrutinize the mirror. “Are you sure you found Vambran? Where is he?”
The diminutive wizard pushed his spectacles farther up his nose and stared for a moment at the scene before answering. “Yes, I’m sure I’ve focused in on him. That looks like a city street. I don’t know what’s burning, though.”
“Look,” Falagh said, pointing. “There he is, fighting.” Then the man leaned in closer, right next to Grozier, crowding Bartimus out. “What is that thing next to him? And what in the Nine Hells are they battling?”
“By Waukeen, that’s a zombie!” Grozier said, jerking back. “Bartimus, pull the image back some more. Get the whole street, if you can.”
When the wizard complied, the three men could see that a multitude of hunched and limping forms
shambled around the periphery of three figures fighting back to back. One of the three was a man, clearly Vambran Matrell, another was a woman, and the third was inhuman.
For a long moment, the three of them sat and stared at the grim battle taking place within the mirror. Finally, Falagh asked in a quiet tone, “Bartimus, can you draw back even more? I’d like to see as much of the city as we can. That has to be Reth.”
Bartimus sent a mental command to the mirror and the image panned back, encompassing several blocks of stone buildings. A multitude of fires burned in the scene. Everywhere the three men stared, houses and shops were engulfed in fire.
“Our logging,” Grozier rasped, his eyes wide. “It’s all going to burn! We’ll lose everything!”
Horial Rhoden attempted to stifle numerous yawns as he trudged along a poorly lit path, following one of the druids leading him through the damp and misty Nunwood. On the third such mouth-splitting gape, he stumbled over a tree root and nearly fell on his face. Disgusted, the sergeant rubbed his eyes and smacked his cheeks a few times to force himself fully awake again.
Pay attention! he ordered himself.
“Contemplating a nap?” Adyan Mercatio asked in his distinctive drawl, hiking along beside Horial in the near-darkness, his breathing somewhat labored in the muggy night. Selune’s light barely penetrated the canopy overhead, making it difficult to spot the many branches, roots, and bushes that slapped and clawed at the five mercenaries along their journey.
The half-dozen or so druids accompanying them did not have the same problem navigating the woods.
“I’ve forgotten what sleep feels like,” Horial replied, yawning again.
“Bartimus!” Grozier snapped, drawing the wizard out of his thoughts.
“Um, yes?” he stammered, realizing that he had actually managed to daydream about daydreaming and thus missed his employer’s question.
“I said, let’s forget this for a moment and try something else. Can we peek in on someone else’s situation?”
“Why, yes,” Bartimus answered, mentally ticking off the number of applications of the scrying spell in his head. “I planned ahead and scribed the requisite spell several times, just in case you would desire me to perform several viewings at once.”
“Excellent,” Grozier said. “Let’s take a look at what
our good friend Vambran Matrell is up to. I wonder if he’s dead yet?”
Bartimus nodded and withdrew a small rolled parchment from a hidden pocket in his robes. Unfurling the thing, he began to call on the magic embedded in the script he had placed there, drawing on the arcane energies locked away in the phrases. He felt the swirl of magic surround him and pour from his hands into the mirror. As the spell took effect, a new image formed in the glass. At first, Bartimus could make out little more than a shifting, swarming light from some flame, with black figures silhouetted against the blaze. With a mental command, the wizard adjusted the point of view, drawing back from the image to get a more panoramic orientation.
Behind Bartimus, Grozier gasped. “What is that?” he asked, leaning down to better scrutinize the mirror. “Are you sure you found Vambran? Where is he?”
The diminutive wizard pushed his spectacles farther up his nose and stared for a moment at the scene before answering. “Yes, I’m sure I’ve focused in on him. That looks like a city street. I don’t know what’s burning, though.”
“Look,” Falagh said, pointing. “There he is, fighting.” Then the man leaned in closer, right next to Grozier, crowding Bartimus out. “What is that thing next to him? And what in the Nine Hells are they battling?”
“By Waukeen, that’s a zombie!” Grozier said, jerking back. “Bartimus, pull the image back some more. Get the whole street, if you can.”
When the wizard complied, the three men could see that a multitude of hunched and limping forms
shambled around the periphery of three figures fighting back to back. One of the three was a man, clearly Vambran Matrell, another was a woman, and the third was inhuman.
For a long moment, the three of them sat and stared at the grim battle taking place within the mirror. Finally, Falagh asked in a quiet tone, “Bartimus, can you draw back even more? I’d like to see as much of the city as we can. That has to be Reth.”
Bartimus sent a mental command to the mirror and the image panned back, encompassing several blocks of stone buildings. A multitude of fires burned in the scene. Everywhere the three men stared, houses and shops were engulfed in fire.
“Our logging,” Grozier rasped, his eyes wide. “It’s all going to burn! We’ll lose everything!”
Horial Rhoden attempted to stifle numerous yawns as he trudged along a poorly lit path, following one of the druids leading him through the damp and misty Nunwood. On the third such mouth-splitting gape, he stumbled over a tree root and nearly fell on his face. Disgusted, the sergeant rubbed his eyes and smacked his cheeks a few times to force himself fully awake again.
Pay attention! he ordered himself.
“Contemplating a nap?” Adyan Mercatio asked in his distinctive drawl, hiking along beside Horial in the near-darkness, his breathing somewhat labored in the muggy night. Selune’s light barely penetrated the canopy overhead, making it difficult to spot the many branches, roots, and bushes that slapped and clawed at the five mercenaries along their journey.
The half-dozen or so druids accompanying them did not have the same problem navigating the woods.
“I’ve forgotten what sleep feels like,” Horial replied, yawning again.
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