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Authors: Martin Scott
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groans and stumbles backwards. Another man is about to step into his place when the Sorcerer pulls him back.
“Leave him to me,” he commands, and his staff glows brighter.
I’ve only a fraction of a second in which to act. I draw back my dagger, preparing to hurl it at the Sorcerer’s face, and hope that he’s not carrying a personal protection spell. Before I can release the weapon, or he can utter his spell, a horrifying shape erupts out of the water. The swordsman closest to me screams and leaps backwards in fear and the Sorcerer’s spell is choked off in mid sentence. Attracted by his light, an alligator surfaces from the mire and grips the Sorcerer’s leg in its monstrous jaws.
I look on, frozen with horror. The beast is huge and the grip of its jaws must be terrible. I’m sure it’s death for the Sorcerer, but he’s not a man who is prepared to surrender his life easily. Mere seconds away from being dragged under the stinking water he shouts out a spell and immediately the alligator starts to writhe dementedly, shaking its huge body around in wild agony, all the while holding on to the leg of the unfortunate Sorcerer.
I turn and flee. He must have used a heart attack spell, or something similar. What this will do to an alligator I’m not certain. Kill it eventually, I’m sure, but maybe not before it killed you. Whether the Sorcerer will survive the encounter is anybody’s guess. A dreadful fate if he dies, but the thought that the deadly spell was destined for use on me mitigates my sympathy somewhat.
Heart pounding for fear of encountering another monstrous alligator, I find the ladder. I haul my bulky figure up the creaking rungs as quickly as I ever scaled anything in my life. At the top of the shaft I push off the cover and drag myself into the street. All around people stare in astonishment as, filthy, bedraggled, wild-eyed and stinking, I emerge into the sunlit streets of Twelve Seas.
“Sewer inspection,” I mutter to one inquisitive individual who nears me as I struggle on my way.
“What’s it like down there?” he calls after me.
“Fine,” I call back. “Good for a few years yet.”
Chapter Twelve
I present a desperate figure as I march into Quintessence Street. The stink from my disgusting sewage-encrusted clothes is unbearable and I’m obsessed with the desire to be clean and to wash the terrible experience out of my system. Down a small alleyway is the public baths. I know the manager well but that doesn’t mean she’s pleased to see me striding in looking like an apparition from hell.
“Need a wash,” I say as I march past her, ignoring her protests and admonitions for me not to go anywhere near her pool in my condition. Bathers scatter like the rats in the sewer as I make my appearance. Mothers grab their small children out of the water in panic as I walk fully clothed into the water. People scream abuse. There are calls for someone to fetch the Civil Guard to protect them from the plague carrier who’s just poisoned their bath.
Ignoring them all, I sink under the warm water and roll around, rubbing the filth from my skin and my clothes. As I let the heat take away some of the tension, I feel some gratitude towards the King. He doesn’t do much for the miserable poor of Twelve Seas, but at least he built us a good bathing house. Some time later I emerge clean, my clothes in my hands. I wrap my now sadly bedraggled cloak around my frame and march out, still ignoring the abuse poured on me from all directions.
“Thanks. Pay you tomorrow,” I grunt at the manager, Ginixa, who is loudly promising a law suit against me for ruining her business.
Makri gapes as I appear at the Avenging Axe. “What happened to you?”
“Bad day in the sewers,” I reply, grabbing a thazis stick on the way up to my rooms. I’m still high on shock and fear, and the effects of my using the sleep spell are starting to show. Spell casting is a tiring business. Even without the
“Leave him to me,” he commands, and his staff glows brighter.
I’ve only a fraction of a second in which to act. I draw back my dagger, preparing to hurl it at the Sorcerer’s face, and hope that he’s not carrying a personal protection spell. Before I can release the weapon, or he can utter his spell, a horrifying shape erupts out of the water. The swordsman closest to me screams and leaps backwards in fear and the Sorcerer’s spell is choked off in mid sentence. Attracted by his light, an alligator surfaces from the mire and grips the Sorcerer’s leg in its monstrous jaws.
I look on, frozen with horror. The beast is huge and the grip of its jaws must be terrible. I’m sure it’s death for the Sorcerer, but he’s not a man who is prepared to surrender his life easily. Mere seconds away from being dragged under the stinking water he shouts out a spell and immediately the alligator starts to writhe dementedly, shaking its huge body around in wild agony, all the while holding on to the leg of the unfortunate Sorcerer.
I turn and flee. He must have used a heart attack spell, or something similar. What this will do to an alligator I’m not certain. Kill it eventually, I’m sure, but maybe not before it killed you. Whether the Sorcerer will survive the encounter is anybody’s guess. A dreadful fate if he dies, but the thought that the deadly spell was destined for use on me mitigates my sympathy somewhat.
Heart pounding for fear of encountering another monstrous alligator, I find the ladder. I haul my bulky figure up the creaking rungs as quickly as I ever scaled anything in my life. At the top of the shaft I push off the cover and drag myself into the street. All around people stare in astonishment as, filthy, bedraggled, wild-eyed and stinking, I emerge into the sunlit streets of Twelve Seas.
“Sewer inspection,” I mutter to one inquisitive individual who nears me as I struggle on my way.
“What’s it like down there?” he calls after me.
“Fine,” I call back. “Good for a few years yet.”
Chapter Twelve
I present a desperate figure as I march into Quintessence Street. The stink from my disgusting sewage-encrusted clothes is unbearable and I’m obsessed with the desire to be clean and to wash the terrible experience out of my system. Down a small alleyway is the public baths. I know the manager well but that doesn’t mean she’s pleased to see me striding in looking like an apparition from hell.
“Need a wash,” I say as I march past her, ignoring her protests and admonitions for me not to go anywhere near her pool in my condition. Bathers scatter like the rats in the sewer as I make my appearance. Mothers grab their small children out of the water in panic as I walk fully clothed into the water. People scream abuse. There are calls for someone to fetch the Civil Guard to protect them from the plague carrier who’s just poisoned their bath.
Ignoring them all, I sink under the warm water and roll around, rubbing the filth from my skin and my clothes. As I let the heat take away some of the tension, I feel some gratitude towards the King. He doesn’t do much for the miserable poor of Twelve Seas, but at least he built us a good bathing house. Some time later I emerge clean, my clothes in my hands. I wrap my now sadly bedraggled cloak around my frame and march out, still ignoring the abuse poured on me from all directions.
“Thanks. Pay you tomorrow,” I grunt at the manager, Ginixa, who is loudly promising a law suit against me for ruining her business.
Makri gapes as I appear at the Avenging Axe. “What happened to you?”
“Bad day in the sewers,” I reply, grabbing a thazis stick on the way up to my rooms. I’m still high on shock and fear, and the effects of my using the sleep spell are starting to show. Spell casting is a tiring business. Even without the
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