Qing's Quest book 2, Chapter 25: Power of a bonecaller

The door splintered as Qing’s foot kicked it inwards, slamming into the wall with a bang. It revealed an opulent room, like those found in a five-star hotel, and shaped an ‘L’ with the door at the top. In the far corner, two sofas faced each other over a delicate wooden table laden with tea and fruits. A silk screen separated the little alcove from the main room, but Qing could just see the end of a bed covered in a red blanket. A wooden desk with a bookcase filled out the room.

But all of this barely registered in Qing’s mind as his eyes were drawn to the room’s inhabitants, energy jolting through his body, preparing him for a fight, and Chain Lightning crackled in his hand, ready to be let go.

But it wasn’t Rufus who awaited him. Nor Raul’cad, the succubus, or Cleo.

“Welcome,” said Grand Vizier Wazir, grinning as he stroked his bearded chin. As he rose from the sofa, so did two others. They wore clothes similar to the mage in the sewer, and both carried a wooden staff. The man wore green and blue, and a rainbow-collared desert salamander sat on his shoulder. The other wore gray clothing with splashes of red, blue, green, and white, and her narrowed eyes radiated danger.

And lined up in a ‘V’, with Wazir at the center, stood ten palace guards, armed to the teeth.

Trap.

He screeched to a halt, and with a mental effort, let the Chain Lightning dissolve in his hands.

“Where is Cleo?” Qing asked.

If these are Rufus’ quarters, then Wazir must know where they are. But, has the king commanded him to capture us, or is he acting on his own?

Wazir waved a hand and said, “Take them.”

“Wait,” Qing shouted, holding up a hand as the palace guards stepped forward. “Can’t we talk first?”

“Will it make you give up without a fight?” Wazir said.

“Just…give me a chance to explain why we are here,” Qing said, stepping back.

“Fine,” Wazir said, and commanded the troops to halt in a half-circle around the doorway, spears angled towards Qing.

“Guards coming up behind us,” Knut said.

“Both staircases,” Morgana added. “Over twenty on each side.”

“Grand Vizier,” Qing said, looking between the heads of two soldiers to meet the man’s eyes. “I apologize for barging into the palace unbidden, but the Devil is stirring, and Rufus Grimshaw is working to unleash him upon the world. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. We barely stopped him in the whispering woods. The man I fought in your court is his servant.”

The more Qing spoke, the angrier the Grand Vizier looked.

Am I not saying the right things? Does he not care?

“The Devil has been locked away for centuries. So long that he has faded almost to a mythological status, but he is real, and if Rufus gets his way, it will mean the end of your civilization. We’ve come to stop him and save your kingdom from—”

“Enough!” Wazir said with a chopping motion. “Such a typical foreigner. Always thinking you know more than us, yet so clueless. You are nothing but a bargaining chip, yet you do not know it. While worth slightly more alive, I do not mind you dead. It is time you understand the cost of interfering with your betters.”

He’s working with Rufus.

A chill ran down Qing’s spine and the hair on his arms stood up as the Grand Vizier’s eyes suddenly went completely white. Only one thing he knew had that effect. Knut and Jenny had commented on it frequently. That was Shadowsight. Wazir was a Bonecaller.

“If they resist, kill them,” Wazir said, and clenched his fist.

“Qing, I think it’s time to leave,” Knut said.

“Hold them back,” Qing said. “Buy me a moment.” He activated his own shadow’s sight and stepped back to the doorway.

Between the approaching palace guards, Wazir’s eyes glowed, shining like miniature white dwarves to Qing’s Shadowsight. And the man radiated energy. He was casting a spell, one Qing recognized. As Wasir finished casting Grasp of the Dead, undead spirits rushed towards Qing, but as he stumbled backwards, he pushed out with all his will. Only to feel like he’d smacked his forehead against a truck. He couldn’t stop it.

But maybe…

He added his own will to the spell, and instead of dispelling, he redirected it, causing it to trigger early.

Right underneath a palace guard.

Ghostly hands reached up to grasp a palace guard, pulling him screaming and kicking to the floor as ghostly hands tore at his soul. The other guards stumbled backwards, giving Qing a split moment to decide.

Fight or flight? If we leave, we learn nothing, and Taaj died for no reason. But, they have us trapped…

Qing’s fists tightened around his axe, and he gritted his teeth.

Or do they… When you expect to trap a fox but find yourself with a tiger, who is the trapee?

“Buy me time,” Qing said to Knut and Morgana.

He held the axe handle across his chest, axe-head out to the side, and angled towards Wazir. The man stood bent over, one hand to his temple, as if experiencing an intense headache.

Qing activated his sandals and everything became a blur as he flashed over the rooted guard. In that split second, his axe tore at his muscles as carved through the neck of the closest guard, but then he was past, slamming into Wazir and then the stone wall. Qing’s bones cracked, but he had expected it, and triggered a health potion.

Surprise was his weapon, and he simultaneously prepared Chain Lightning while he jabbed out with the axe, knocking the female mage off her feet and interrupting her spellcasting.

The desert salamander, about a meter long, lunged at him, scratching across his plated chest piece. Qing ignored it. He had to decide between stunning the three spellcasters or the melee warriors. To avoid being trapped between two forces, he threw the chain lightning behind him. Thunder filled the room as another five soldiers dropped, leaving three standing. The others should live, but it bought him time.

Pain shot through him as the salamander bit his neck. He ripped the animal away, a piece of his own flesh tearing off, and threw it at a stone wall. The male mage stood, eyes closed, a green light shining between his hands, arms pointed at Wazir.

Great. A healer.

Qing pulled on the heat in the air, casting Firebolt. But as the bolt of fire crackled in his palm, Wazir’s eyes burst open, and with a growl, he kicked Qing.

It wasn’t a hard kick, but enough to make him stumble backward, away from the mages. Qing changed target, throwing the Firebolt at Wazir instead of the healer.

If I can burst him down, overcoming the healing, then...

But his thoughts short-circuited in surprise as the Firebolt hit Wazir and just fizzled into nothing, as if it was nought but a piece of paper lit on fire, drifting in the air, disappearing into ash.

The man had resisted the spell.

Wazir was down on one knee, clutching his middle with teeth gritted. But before Qing could cast another spell, a green light covered the vizier, and he rose.

Quick reflexes proc’ed, and Qing dove to his left as a spear passed by his neck. Outside the apartment, Knut’s bow sang again and again, and Morgana’s whip cracked through the air. Neither of them could hold a massed assault at bay for long.

As he rolled, Qing swept his axe along the floor. It slipped beneath a shield and separated a foot and leg, sending a soldier down screaming.

But before he could celebrate, something hit Qing’s hip with the force and heat of a glowing frying pan, knocking him into a roll. The female mage had thrown a Firebolt, and his skin sizzled where it had burned through his leather pants, pain assaulting his brain.

He only had one remaining health potion, having given one each to Knut, Morgana, and Taj.

“Just wait,” Qing tried to say, as got a foot underneath himself. If he could just get them talking…

But Wazir raised his arms, and the energy of the dead gathered. It built and built around his splayed fingers. Qing staggered up, swinging his axe at a guard, his strength propelling the edge through the blocking spear, shield, and into the man’s chest. He dropped dead.

The last standing guard halted and took a step back, out of Qing’s reach. But before Qing could take advantage of the room, Wazir cast his spell.

Dozens of needle-sharp bone fragments flashed from his fingers in a fan, showering Qing, who barely managed to pull a gauntleted hand in front of his eyes. All across his body, needles sank into his skin, damaging his flesh and spirit both. It was as if a hundred sadistic acupuncture artists worked in unison to torture him, and he screamed. But as he fell, a wave of water surged from thin air, sweeping up Qing, a dead guard, and the pillowed bed, to splinter against the back of the alcove. Every contact pushed the needled further into his skin, and Qing felt his consciousness fading as the water evaporated like magic and he collapsed to the floor. His head fell so that he looked at the three mages. Stones hugged her skin as if she wore a stone elemental suit. It had to be an armour spell.

Wazir laughed and clapped his hands. “You think you can stand against me? The only thing worse than a fool is a weak fool.” He shook his head. “Goodbye.”

Next to Qing lay a dead palace guard, and he could feel the magic building up inside the body, but with no release, it would burst. That seemed bad. He had to do something. Anything. So he opened his Shadowsight and pushed past the pain, reaching out to the spirits that filled the room, fighting to cast Raise Skeleton. The dead, while not as prevalent as in the sewer, were still many. The spirit of the corpse laying next to him was inflating like a balloon. But then, Qing found the right spirit and cast Raise Skeleton. The mental struggle was over nearly before it began, and the freshly dead spirit reacted to his commanding will.

“No!” screamed Wazir as Qing’s spell took effect and the dead man’s skeleton rose from its corpse, shedding flesh and skin like an old suit. But the Grand Vizier’s spell had to go somewhere. The energy was already summoned. Qing followed it with his eyes as Wazir pushed it towards the other corpses. It sipped into the first guard he’d killed, which happened to lie in the middle of the five stunned guards. The corpse grew, stretched, and then exploded. Death energy flayed the souls of the surrounding guards, while shrapnel from the man’s body—chain mail, belt buckle, jewelry, and bones—splattered across the room, blasting their bodies away to slap against the walls.

Wazir glared at Qing. “Luck will not save you twice.”

Qing checked his character’s screen.

Health: 70/300

Mana: 260/300

Shit. That was too close.

“How’s it going in there?” Knut shouted. “We almost done?”

“Wouldn’t say no to some help here,” Morgana added.

He popped a potion and commanded the skeleton to charge Wazir, and the pain eased as healing took effect across his body, but he felt the elementalist preparing another Firebolt.

“Where is Cleo?” Qing growled as he stood.

Wazir just smiled, gathering energy between his hands.

The mage threw the Firebolt, blasting apart the skeleton Qing had raised.

Wazir just smiled and finished his spell. A band of energy flashed from him to strike Qing over the heart. For a second, he felt his resistances push back against it. But then it was through. This was no Mana Siphon. He felt his life leech out, and the connection turned red as life was sucked towards Qazir. Qing stumbled to one knee.

“If you’re going to kill me anyway, just tell me before I die,” Qing said, tempting the man’s pride.

“It’s been a while since I got to stretch even some of my abilities,” Wazir said with a grin. “But no, I will not tell you my plans. A Bonecaller never reveals his secrets, not to the dead nor those about to die. You should know, few are as eager to speak as the dead.”

“The Devil will destroy you all,” Qing said, as he pulled down energy from above, casting Divine Light on himself through gritted teeth.

Do I charge to strike them down or use this as the opportunity to flee?

Not counting the guards, it was three against one. Wazir had resisted his spell, but physical damage had hurt him. If he carved the man in two with a smite, he should be able to deal with the two others, pulling the information from them.

I’ve got to try.

He rushed forward, but the male mage, salamander held close to his chest, raised a hand and closed his eyes. Qing felt the energy gather and flash out towards him. Only two more steps, and his feet sank into the stone as it turned soft, and he stumbled. The man had cast Nature’s Grasp, trapping Qing in the middle of the room.

“I’m ready in a second, sire,” the elementalist said. She stood clasping her forearms, breath calm, squinting at him.

I won’t win. I need to get out of here. But how?

There was one spell Qing hadn’t used yet. Even while Wazir leeched the life from him, Qing blinked and peeled back the fabric of the universe, siphoning off arcane energy.

Wazir just grinned at him. “Defiant to the last?” he asked Qing, arching an eyebrow.

“Screw you,” Qing said, casting Magic Missiles. Three bolts flashed out, and where Firebolt had fizzled to nothing against the man’s resistances, the Magic Missiles burned through as if nothing had stood in their way but a paper-thin layer of silk. Wazir screamed as three fist-sized globes seared into his chest and stomach, blood spurting out. Life leech collapsed as he sank to the stones in pain.

The elementalist staggered back, mouth agape, while the healer immediately started casting a heal.

“Qing,” Morgana said, “we’re out of time!”

With an inhuman effort, Qing ripped his legs from the floor, leaving behind one sandal, and plenty of skin. He stumbled towards the door, every left step leaving a blood footprint, the last guard staying well back.

Nearly there…

But then he felt the power of undeath gather around him, and he turned to find Wazir’s eyes boring into him, both hands raised despite his wounds.

Qing looked down. He stood among five corpses.

“Oh shit.”