David Wells - Linkershim

Alexander ran for the far side of the chamber.

“McGinty!” he shouted again.

The strange little creature rose up out of the floor, looking at the scene of battle with as much dismay as his incomplete features could convey.

“Bridge the gap!” Alexander shouted, ducking to avoid another crossbow bolt.

“Look out,” Chloe said, buzzing into view.

Alexander took a hit in the middle of his back that knocked him to his knees. He hadn’t seen it coming and his magic hadn’t warned him, but the strike was very real, a dagger point brought down full force. Chloe virtually ripped his mind away from his body and showed him the enemy he faced-Titus Grant. Grant raised his dagger again, this time aiming for the back of Alexander’s head.

He rolled to the side, avoiding the strike but leaving himself flat on his back looking up and seeing nothing, yet seeing Grant through Chloe’s eyes. Rather than fight, he blinded the brigand with his staff, flooding the chamber with light again, stunning his enemies with blindness, but noticing that the brilliance produced by Luminessence was less than before and it seemed to require more will and effort.

The guardian was nearly fully reassembled, yet still on its knees, stones skittering across the floor toward it, adding to its bulk and size as they became incorporated into its enormous body.

Alexander let the light lapse when he saw the bridge materialize behind him. He’d seen this magic before-Blackstone Keep. He spun and ran with every bit of speed he could muster. The bridge arced gracefully, spanning five hundred feet to the shrine where the well of memory resided.

Grant cursed, backing away from the bridge abutment even as he ordered his three closest men to give chase. Shards of red-tinged magical force whizzed past Alexander, narrowly missing his head. He ignored them, focusing on speed. A dozen soldiers followed on the heels of Grant’s men while the wizard and the remaining soldiers engaged the brigands.

A crossbow bolt grazed Alexander’s shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood. He took a sharp breath, trying to ignore the pain, his breathing heavy, his lungs and legs on fire. Nearly to the platform, exhausted from running, a volley of crossbow bolts arced through the air toward him. He dodged, turning to avoid a hit, but he wasn’t fast enough. A bolt hit him in the side of the left thigh, its point protruding from the inside of his leg just above the knee.

He stumbled and fell a dozen feet from the end of the bridge, crying out in pain and surprise, Luminessence clattering onto the platform and coming to rest not far from the well of memory. He looked back. Grant’s three men were bearing down on him, not thirty feet away, and a dozen soldiers were another hundred feet behind them, but behind them all was the guardian, building speed with every step, closing the distance with frightening quickness.

Staggering to his feet, then falling again when he tried to put weight on his wounded leg, Alexander revised his assessment of the guardian’s speed. He crawled the last few feet, bruised and battered, bloody and in pain, coming to his knees once he reached the platform, ignoring the sharp stab of agony as he swept the Thinblade through the bridge a foot away from the edge of the platform, starting at the nearest side and allowing himself to fall forward so he could reach the far side of the bridge with a single stroke.

Rolling onto his back, struggling to catch his breath, Alexander watched the guardian crash into the soldiers, trampling several and sending the rest flying off the sides of the bridge. Past the onrushing guardian and the rapidly closing brigands, Alexander saw Grant casually kill the Acuna wizard, stabbing him in the back.

Alexander was spent. All he could do was watch the three brigands and the guardian close the gap, but then a loud crack reverberated through the underdark and the bridge broke. The nearest of the brigands leapt for the platform, catching the edge, then slipping over until he was holding on for dear life.

“Pull me up,” he shouted.

With a derisive snort, Alexander reached out and brought the pommel of the Thinblade down on his hand and the man slipped free, falling into the darkness with a fading scream.

Alexander lay still for several moments, regaining his composure and his breath. Across the gap, Grant stood at the edge of the guardian chamber with what remained of his men, watching Alexander … but he was too far away to do more than watch.

Alexander sat up and carefully cut the shaft protruding from his leg, then gritted his teeth and pulled the bolt through from the barbed end, stifling a whimper. Blackness threatened to envelop him, but he brought himself back with a sheer effort of will, forcing his pain into the background and focusing on the task at hand.

McGinty rose up before him.

“Did you bring the memory?” The strange little creature almost sounded excited.

“Yes,” Alexander said, willing the door to his Wizard’s Den open.

McGinty seemed alarmed when he saw the people within.

“No others may be here.”

“They’re not here, they’re in there,” Alexander said. “Lita, bring me that strongbox, please.”

She obeyed dutifully, remaining within the Wizard’s Den. “You’re hurt,” she said. “Let me tend to that.”

“Later,” Alexander said, unlocking the strongbox and removing the vial containing the blood of the earth. “I won’t be long.”

He closed the door.

McGinty tried to frown. “Where did they go?”

“Like I said, they were never here; they were in there. Can you bring me my staff?” he asked, pointing to Luminessence.

McGinty seemed momentarily confused until Alexander waggled his finger at it, then he shuffled over and lifted it from the stone floor.

“This is vitalwood,” he said with as much surprise as he could seem to muster.

“Yes.”

“But the vitalwood died out, and the fay with them.”

“There’s one left,” Alexander said. “I found the branch that this staff is made from nearby it.”

McGinty held it out as if it were sacred, offering it to Alexander. He took it with a smile and leveraged himself to his feet, using the staff as a crutch.

“If the vitalwood yet live, then the fay may return.”

Alexander shrugged, pain and exhaustion rippling through his body. “Maybe … I don’t know.”

He hobbled over to the altar, leaning heavily on Luminessence, running his finger along the edge of the crystal bowl and sighing to himself before he started cleaning the debris from the well of memory.

“Forgive me, Isabel,” he whispered, pulling the stopper from the vial with his teeth and dropping it to the floor. He hesitated for just a moment, swallowing hard before tipping the vial and allowing the single drop of blood of the earth to spill forth into the well of memory. It splashed against the side of the bowl, scores of tiny beads rolling to the lowest point and collecting into a single drop.

The air became very still, as if the world itself was expecting something. The hair on his head stood up and then the four little mounds of dirt piled nearby started to stir, each coalescing into a creature of different form and shape. One took on a humanoid appearance while the remaining three seemed to vanish into the stone, molding it back into perfect form after they’d passed.

“They’re awake!” McGinty said, his voice filled with as much joy as Alexander could have imagined.

The sole Linkershim who remained on the platform seemed to regard Alexander carefully before refining its appearance to become a perfect imitation of him, except he was made entirely of stone and dirt.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, as if spoken language was foreign.