A deal worth making

Hildegard dares not interrupt a demon, even less so after such a demonstration. But a wizard may not kill her outright and she does not want to burn to death, especially not after escaping being sacrificed. Her Latin isn’t very good, but sometimes you need to take a courageous step. „Master wizard, what is done?“. His eyes home in on her. „What? Say again!“ he answers after a pause. „Master wizard, what is done?“ A smile spreads over his face. „I am pleased, because you understood me. Now I can talk and ask.“ She is alarmed. He wants to ask questions. She better preempt that right now. „What will you perform?“. His face lights up.

Zewrepa is impressed. The wizard shows no sign of fear as he floats down to her. He also shows no fear of a device that is designed to immolate him. He does show proper caution, though. Gingerly he removes sand with his fingers. He unearths a silver cable coming out of the crystal bomb. He says something she doesn’t understand. She needs to be understood. Drawing certain attentions is not good, not even the hive would be safe, but she needs to say something. So be it. She uses the Atlantean language. „Do you understand the setup?“

Anjali perks up. Finally something to say, even if the medium is cursed. „I am afraid only I can understand you. Only our primary captor was an Atlantean. Though i would not expect anybody to make so fine a distinction if we were discovered.“. The demon looks at her and tilts her head with a nod. Apparently what she said was true but needs no reply. That is fine. You do not needlessly use the accursed tongue aloud, as useful it may be for reading ancient tomes.

The tall one and the wizard share a language. For now that is useful. In the long run it is annoying. It is for now still more important to watch the dryad. Wizards know about traps. As tempting as it would be to get some very direct control of the situation, it would be a mistake.

Melo is drained. She is drifting towards sleep. People are talking in the accursed tongue. The master is back and talking to his bedwarmer. Who cares? He can’t do worse than kill her. If they get themselves found out this way, so be it. She only wished that she’d live long enough to see them suffer the consequences. This sheet makes a nice pillow. She will not block the sun from her body, even if it is the wrong body and just lamps. There will be shade soon enough.

Messages go through the silver wire. I sense them. I cannot understand them. To each query there is a response and each subsequent query is different and yields a different response. The crystal itself shows a detection spell. It would detect any external object or spell damaging the crystal or an intrusion through the shell. It does not take a genius to understand what will happen if the detection is triggered.

I could attack the barrier itself. The result would be the same, if the designer of this facility was rational. This is not good news. I fly out of the hole and stretch out a hand to the demoness to help her get out. She is in this with us and I feel a bit safer if nobody is too close to the wire.

He is stretching his hand out to her. Is that a request to mate? He is male and he has flown. She would need to rebuff him. She has not sung. There are no clan elders to make a recording of their act. And he has defeated no competitors. To some a male holding an uncontested mating ground was as good as a male having defeated the competitors. She does not think so. As if it mattered, for he can’t fertilize her eggs, which are not even ripened. No, this needs to end here and now. She just jumps out.

In the long run, it looks like the only option left to them is ambushing the Atlantean, when and if he comes back.

Apparently she does not need anybody’s help. I am a bit dejected. I guess I owe the tall blonde girl an explanation „Words through the connection go out of the rock and into the rock. I hear them, but I don’t understand them. I cannot tell it that it not be a guardian. If it wounded, rock would know.“ She takes the news with a display of courage, but I don’t believe her. It has to hit hard.

She hands me a military style field bottle. That surprises me. „Whence?“ I ask. She points to the backpack no longer attached to the thoroughly carbonized remains of a woman. „To the pregnant one.“ I reply. I think I see a mixture of surprise, rejection and respect on her face. I smile, hoping to take the sting out of my one-worded reply. If I am to meet my ancestors soon I want to be able to point at least at some chivalry.

I need to think. Burying the bomb and setting it off is suicide. It was buried in the first place. Apparently I cannot enclose it in battleship armor by wishing it to be so. And now I am getting thirsty. Why did she have to offer a beverage? So I cannot just create a soft drink and, while I am at it, a banquet with a simple wish. The Indian girl approaches and sits down at a respectful distance, also leaning against a wall. I must say thirst and a funeral pyre predating death are no longer the only considerations on my mind.

I have an idea. Is there a glas vessel in this cave? My power answers. I get up, not noticing the satisfaction my hurried departure causes, and grab the glass bucket. I can make things cold, very cold. Within limits I can even make the effect power itself.

The first beads of condensation form on the bucket. That water is coming out of the air. I have not created it, just forced it to become liquid. But didn’t I create air? Well did I, or did I just transform existing air? Nuclear transsubstitution would be impressive enough. But the carbon dioxide would have killed us long before we ran out of oxygen. Where is the carbon dioxide going?

That takes ten minutes and I need to swich on my sight. Little cylinders mounted between the ceiling and the walls above the blackboard take it out of the air. That means I did create oxygen. Let’s try something. I wish for fog. Fog pours out of my hand and the bucket fills quickly. I allow myself a drink. Ice cold and refreshing.

The wizard definitely is an air sorcerer. But he does not know his own powers. Anyway I make him nervous. The odder ones of them are extraordinarily productive in that state and not happy if you interrupt them. I just need to wait.

I conjure hail coming from the ceiling in a corner of the room. It works. The mother and the pregnant lady get up to collect the hail, clean it with sheets and put it in another bucket they take out of a second closet with brooms. I notice that the mother is limping. Again she freezes as I touch her ankle. Wizards must have a terrible reputation in this land.

Do we spit fire? Well, do we? Yes, we do. The water in the bucket is now liquid and I need to extinguish the bucket. Wait a minute. It will register a weapon or a spell penetrating …

I ring the crystal with fire. My special sight tells me that it is red hot, but the spell does not trigger as long as the flame does not touch the crystal. I must be careful not to melt the silver. There, this should be enough. I cancel the flame and throw the content of the bucket onto the crystal. Crack, a flash and some minor flames, but the crystal crumbles. It is done.