One of the priests grabbed hold of Father Orlogo and began pushing him toward safety. Another one went for the lamp, only to get zapped with some kind of electrical spell and was sent sliding across the ground, robes smoking.
The paladin ducked behind us. He was about my age, and from the lack of insignia on his coat compared to other paladins, was probably of very low rank. All this chaos seemed to have taken him by surprise. At first, I thought he was trying to warn me and Dathka of something, but then I realized he was speaking into one of his magical charms. “There’s a disturbance by the statue of Saint Gratitude. The priests of Ulmorn are fighting each other.” We couldn’t hear the response from thecharm, but after a pause, the paladin said, “I don’t know why they’re fighting. Just send help. There’s a bunch of them.”
Dathka started toward Gerzog, but the paladin grabbed hold of her cloak. “Don’t go down there, miss. The followers of Saint Violence are a rowdy sect.” He must have mistaken us for innocent pilgrims in need of protecting. Then his charm asked another question, and he said to it, “No, not by Saint Gertrude.Gratitude, on the rest platform by the?—”
Dathka coldly kneed the poor fellow in the balls. He gasped and let go, allowing her to get back to her mission of revenge.
The magical communication had gone out either way, and the religious version of watchmen would surely bust heads as thoroughly as their non-religious counterparts. The box holding the lamp was still sitting there next to the statue, forgotten in the chaos. Now was my chance.
“Sorry, friend,” I told the doubled over and wheezing paladin, then sprang up and ran for the treasure.
Most of the priests had taken cover on one side of the platform and the mercenaries on the other, except for the main orc himself, who was rushing his enemy.
Gerzog got hit by a spell, but it flashed and fizzled against one of his protective charms. He caught that priest by the collar and swung him so hard against the base of the statue that I could hear bones crack from across the platform. Orcs arestrong. But from there, Gerzog didn’t head for the lamp. He was fixated on his retirement coins.
Except, just as he grabbed the handles and hoisted up the chest, a concussive air spell struck him. Gerzog’s mass and protective charms kept him from getting bowled over, but the magical wave of force smashed the chest open, spilling all the Obols.
“No!” Gerzog watched in horror as his money went rolling in every direction. “Kill these wretched p?—”
I didn’t know if he was about to saypriestsorpests, because that was when Dathka leapt onto his back and went to stabbing. She wrapped her legs around his waist, one arm around his neck, and the other arm became a blur of motion as she slammed the shard into his ribs over and over. Gerzog roared and spun around, Dathka clinging to him like one of the Smorp Brother’s monkeys hanging from the bars of their cage, and her stabbing arm never stopped moving.
If he’d had any protective charms remaining after being hit by back-to-back spells, Dathka burned through them in the first few hits, and then blood went flying. It was savage.
Gerzog proved to be one tough orc. He threw himself back against the statue, and she was between him and it. Dathka hit hard and her grip loosened, which allowed Gerzog to reach over his shoulder, grab her by the hair, pull her over, and fling her against the ground. She hit on her back and bounced.
She was dazed and helpless as Gerzog lifted one big boot to stomp on her head flat, but then he stumbled off-balance—I’d thrown aShroud of Firein his face. Sadly, he was at the far end of my range, so his clothing and hair didn’t ignite, but it was enough to make him flinch away.
I’d been going for the treasure, but diverted to save Dathka’s life instead. Curse my quality honorable upbringing. I slid on my knees next to her, leveling my pistol at Gerzog’s head.
Except that same priest with the air spells had the bad timing to hit the center of the platform with another concussion just as I pulled the trigger. It knocked me sideways over Dathka. Gerzog was sent lurching back. Instead of splitting his skull, my bullet barely grazed his cheek. Coins went flying.
Worst of all, that spell knocked over the box with the lamp. It toppled, and I barely had time to close my eyes and slap one hand over them.
When the lid popped open, it was so bright, it was like the sun had landed on the platform; like getting a regular light charm shoved into each eye. Everyone on the platform, merc, priest, assassin, or paladin, all got flash-blinded.
Except for me, because I’d already had a glove clamped across my face. I shoved my empty pistol back in the holster, and crawled toward the light, which I could still see the glow of through eyelid, leather, and the meat of my hand—no wonder Korthican’s neighbors had complained—until I bumped into the box. I fumbled about, hit something that felt like metal or glass, shoved it back inside, and slammed the lid shut.
Thankfully, that ended the searing light. I didn’t know what enchantments the mercs had put on this box to contain the brightness of this ridiculous thing, but I was glad they had.
Glancing around, through the flashing purple blobs that were consuming most of my vision, it looked like everyone else was even more disoriented than I was. Gerzog was obviously in pain, but sadly not dying, as he patted the many bleeding holes in his ribs, before finding what he was looking for. He stuck two fingers into a wound, and grimaced as he fished around, pulling out the broken piece of glass that had snapped off inside of him.
“I’m gonna kill you!”
It was sorely tempting to go over there and stab him while he was blind, or reload my gun and shoot him, but then I’d still be stuck here with a bunch of angry mercs and incoming paladins, and I’d rather not end up in prison for defacing a holy site. There was a whooshing noise as the glass lift went past. On the other side a whole bunch of pilgrims were staring at us, wondering what the hell was going on.
That gave me an idea. I stuck the box under one arm, and pulling Dathka’s sleeve with the other, I dragged her upright. “Come on!”
Having been absolutely clobbered by Gerzog, she moaned in agony, but managed to stay on her feet, wobbling and blind, as I led her toward the central chute. It was probably a good thing she had no idea where I was taking her, because—being sane—she would have certainly refused.
The safety rail was about waist high, and Dathka stopped when she bumped into it. The passing lift was close enough we could reach out and touch the glass. “What’s happening?”
“We’re getting out of here.”
As soon as the roof of the lift went by, I shoved Dathka over the rail. She screamed, but only for a second before landing with athump. I vaulted over after her.
I hit the glass roof, and all was well… except it turned out the top glass was just there to keep the rain off the passengers, not to support the weight of two people suddenly landing on it.
Crack.
