Spire's Spite

The lake was freezing, Fritz’s muscles cramped as he sunk through the darkening gloom under the eldritch waves. His chest heaved and he had to resist letting out his lungful of air as the icy cold sank deep into his flesh. Fritz made sure to clutch to his rock with all the grip he could muster even though he began to shiver violently and his body disobeyed his will to be still.

He held on, letting the cold take its toll, feeling the shivers rack his flesh until it settled into a biting numbness. Maybe a minute into his tortuous sinking Fritz started to feel a heat building in his chest. He focused on the warmth, at first thinking it was a figment of his imagination but he realised it was radiating out from his lungs and soaking into his chest in a blissful, stinging sensation. The potion? he questioned. He could think of no other explanation so he went with it.

Of course, it’s the magic potion, lets you hold your breath and warms you up, how very useful. It's magic of course, easy, simple, not at all surprising. Just a magic potion, Fritz reassured himself.

The blue-green light that illumined the water faded away into darkness as he descended.

Fritz sunk ever further into the depths, keeping his mind focused on the unusual but very welcome warmth and not on thoughts of despair. The brutal, bone-chilling cold retreated, first from his centre then from his previously numb limbs. His shivering stopped completely and he could feel his hands again, even if they were just gripping to an ice-cold stone.

He could find a way out of this he told himself. Just hit the bottom then undo the interlaced knots of his shoelaces, if that didn’t work just pull off your boots. No big deal he lied.

Fritz’s descent continued like this for a couple more dreadful minutes, he looked around in the wet dark trying to catch a glimpse of his crew or anyone else. Anything to make this gloom less oppressive. Less lonesome. But all he could see was the muted radiance of the blue-green peak of the Spire, hovering overhead like a terrible, malevolent moon.

Fritz hit the lake's basin, a cloud of metallic silt leaping up around him and obscuring what little he could see in a shimmering wall of green-grey with blue-green sparks. When the silt had settled he found himself on top of a shore of stones, hundreds of stones, similar in size and weight to his own stretching out to either side. He promptly dropped his own rock and let fall to join its fellows.

He sat on the stones and attempted to wrestle with his boots. They were thoroughly stuck to him, even more so than usual due to their being soaked. He cursed his habit of lacing his boots so tightly, it was coming back to bite him, or bind him really.With that avenue blocked he turned his attention to the laces and the innumerable knots.

The maze of laces was unyielding and nigh incomprehensible in the gloom, still, he pulled on them frantically, trying to find a weak point or a loose knot. To no avail. He struggled for another precious, dwindling minute until in frustration he looked around for anything sharp. A slightly jagged rock would do fine. Unfortunately, terribly, the rocky shore's stones and their edges were all far to blunt to be of any use.

He considered abandoning his efforts to free his feet, and simply resigning himself to half-crawl-half-swim along the bottom of the stony basin. But it turned out, that without his legs to propel him properly, he would move too slow, far too slow when he was already counting down the minutes of breath he had remaining. Fritz soon came to the conclusion, that with his boots binding him as they were, he would make little progress towards the Spire. Little progress with a lot of struggle, he needed another plan.

In the darkness nothing moved that is until he saw a flicker of light to his right, a small shine of blue-green and then gone.

Fritz thought on Nic’s words about Armoured sharks and other nasty, metal fish-monsters. Spires tended to create or let loose strange monsters, something about a ‘mana-alignment-demesne.’ Well, at least that's what Fritz remembered his father saying. Spires could become a menace if they are not cleared out regularly, or so it was said.

Fritz’s father had also said that, usually, the monsters outside a Spire aren’t as deadly or horrible as the ones beyond the Spire's ‘demesne’ in the lands between Spires nor as bad as the ones in the Spire itself.

Usually, but this isn't usual, not usual at all, his treacherous mind whispered.

Fritz shuddered, hoping he wasn’t noticed by the creature already but it also gave him an idea.

One of the monsters Nic mentioned was called a 'quicksilver swordfish' right? The operative word being sword, which sounds like it might be sharp. Sharp enough to cut through my bootlaces? Possibly. Sharp enough to cut me to ribbons? Yes definitely, he mused.

A last resort, he told himself even if he knew it was basically a forgone conclusion unless there was something useful in this sack tied to his side.

With trembling care and tortuous trepidation Fritz unfastened the drawstring of the sack, looking within. His hand rooted around in its dark contents.

The majority of the bag was filled with a blanket-sized roll of oilcloth, the same brown of the oil coats Nic and the other thugs had been wearing, well it would be brown if not for this eerie light. With it were nine waxpaper-wrapped, rectangular bars, a ball of twine, a water skin he assumed was filled with fresh water. Lastly there was a wax-sealed circular tin, about the size of his palm, that was made of some metal but he couldn’t tell what kind because of the gloom.

He stuffed all the items back into the sack save one of the wrapped bars. He drew the drawstring tight and looked closely at the bar. The waxpaper was stamped with the seal of the King of Rain, must be for his sailors and soldiers.

The waxpaper itself Fritz knew was made of a woven reed fibre, useless for taking ink but great for wax sealing. It was immersed into a pot of thin boiling skulg-wax and then used to wrap whatever you needed to be wrapped. The process made the woven fibres extremely brittle once it cooled, but it was plentiful, cheap and kept out the water.

Not important right now, he chided himself.

He cracked open the paper and inside found a hard grey substance that looked like mould in the blue-green light. He broke a bit off. It was flaky like dried fish and it wasn’t difficult to pull apart in drank the water making it soggy and paste-like.

Fritz realised it was some sort of ration bar, he had seen them and stolen one once before. He hadn’t repeated the theft as they were truly foul tasting things made for desperate sailors at sea, or perhaps an equally desperate climber in a Spire. He quickly re-wrapped both the piece he had broken off and the untouched part, he didn't want it to get too soggy or attract something in these waters.

Yet.

Fritz looked for a staging ground for his plan.

Somewhere close, I can use these rocks to my advantage. he schemed.

He spied a good spot not too far from where he sat. A spot to set his trap. He began a sort of swimming, shimmying crawl. His hands grabbed at stones and he pulled himself along until he made it to his goal.

Fritz started shifting the stones and it proved a hard task. Weighed down by the water, his limbs moved slowly and he felt heavy. He spent another few minutes building a sort of hole or ‘cave’ of the loose stones, with smaller stones supporting the largest, heaviest rock he could lift. It sat on top ready to fall. Satisfied with his ‘cave’ Fritz reopened the ration and placed it deep within the hole. He kept its paper wrapping, then moved to the side of the entrance and hid, staying as still the stones around him.

Fritz hoped he wasn't imagining the flashes of light streaking his way. It would be there then gone. Was it getting closer? Am I wasting what little time I have? Maybe if I had made a run for it, no crawl for it maybe I would be closer? No, I'm not going anywhere with my legs bound like this. He worried.

Then the glistening of light a green-blue metallic blur in the water. It moved incredibly fast to Fritz's eyes, zipping quickly in a straight line then stopping, then zipping again in a line of blue green light. It was getting ever closer to Fritz and his hiding spot. When the creature was within feet of him it hung still in the water for a few seconds, he could finally get a good look at what he’d lured to his cave.

It was a long, sleek fish around nine feet long with metallic, shimmering scales. Its fins looked razor sharp and it had a long thin blade at its front as if it were a nose. The blade looked almost as long as one of Fritz’s fathers' rapiers but it didn't quite have that same straight edge. He could see that it had a sort of opalescent shimmer and looked as sharp as and sword he’d seen in his life.

That blade could skewer, cut and rend a man to ribbons with very little effort, Fritz thought apprehensively, fear slowly creeping into his gut. His deep resolve steeled him, his determination to survive no matter the odds.

Well, it’s quick, possibly silver and has a sword. Yep, it must be that swordfish Nic said not to mess with.

Time to mess with it.

Fritz waited and watched, his feet resting on an integral support stone at the cave’s entrance. He was as patient as a thief, likely because he was one. The fish remained in place, it jerked its head back and forth its blade swishing through the water with a deadly grace. It seemed to be searching, looking out with cloudy copper eyes and flaring its three slitted gills intensely.

Suddenly it blurred, speeding into his 'cave' snapping up the horrible ration bar. A full three quarters of the fish's length plunged within in the hole. Fritz kicked out with his feet pushing at the supporting stone with all his strength. The stone fell to the side, collapsing the cave’s entrance. The heavy stone roof crashed down slowly onto the monstrous fish. Fritz frantically scrambled on top of the sinking rock, adding his own weight to the underwater avalanche trap.

The plan worked, mostly.

The swordfish was caught, it began to thrash as it was pinned by the heavy stone roof and the other rocks of the collapsed cave. Fritz waited as it fought against the crushing stone, its tail writhing and slashing through the water. He hoped it would tire itself out soon, every minute he lost here counted, he prayed to the Final Spire he still had enough air to get to the Spire’s Door.

The tail eventually stopped thrashing, and the monster fell still, quiet. Luckily for Fritz it had done so quickly, with barely a minute of struggle.

Had it died suddenly?

No. Fritz didn't think so, still, he had to move and move fast. If he wanted to live.

Fritz crawled down the heavy stone, boots first, and he aligned the tangle of laces with the swordfish's still tail fin. The fin looked wickedly sharp as it glinted in the strange light, maybe not so much as the sword head but it still looked like a knife's edge. Which is precisely what Fritz needed in this moment.

The bootlaces were barely three inches away from the fin's edge when Fritz felt a shudder in the rock beneath him. He almost screamed in terror but held it in, clamping both hands over his face to seal his mouth. He sat frozen, fearing the monster would get loose and skewer him then shred him into tiny pieces if he so much as moved.

The shuddering stopped and Fritz calmed his raw nerves and slowed his racing heart. Or he tried to before writing it off as a fool's errand.

Now or never.

He pushed himself into action, knowing another shuddering of the stone would send him over the edge in both body and mind.

Fritz removed his hands from his mouth placed them on the stone below and pushed himself forward, boot laces first, onto the tail fin’s razor edge. The laces went taut as they touched the sharp edge, they bent around the natural blade. Fritz began to panic thinking the corded laces wouldn't cut, that the fin wasn’t sharp enough. He pushed against the stone harder and then felt the laces snap, cut and loosen around his feet.

He was so distracted, so filled with relief that he couldn’t pull himself away from the tail fast enough. It swished and slashed through the murk, reacting to his touch. A line of burning pain shot up his calf as the fin glided into and over his right leg. His trouser’s cloth and the flesh beneath parted with surprising ease.

In agony Fritz swam away as fast he could, kicking hard with his now free legs. Leaving the metallic monster trapped in the small avalanche he had caused. As the creature struggled the stones started to shift and its bladed nose shot up through a gap in the rocks. He saw it was slowly working its way free of the stones, but Fritz had no time to watch, he had to get as far away as possible.

He could see a dark substance, floating out of the gash in his calf. Blood he realised, his blood, it appeared black in the blue-green light and was spilling out of him like smoke.

Have to fix that, can't have me bleed to death, not when I’ll need all my blood for the Spire, Fritz thought in a delirious haze.

Fritz reached into his gear sack, muddling about in it and searching for the discarded wax paper of the ration bar and the ball of twine. His trembling hands found both and he stilled them and set to work on his wound. The cut in his calf was cleaner than he had thought, almost an inch of his flesh sliced though as if by a chef's knife. It burned horribly in the salty, stained water.

He took the wax paper and plastered it over the cut, trying to seal off the blood escaping his leg. He didn’t want to attract any more fish monsters if he could help it. The wax paper wouldn’t stick as it was waterproof, so he had to use the twine to tie it tightly in place. He pulled the twine taut around his calf constricting the blood flow also while holding the paper securely to his wound, cinching it off in a strong knot and hoping to the Gods it would hold.

He glanced back to the Quicksilver Swordfish in worry, he hoped it still struggled to get free. His eyes were really starting to burn in the abominable saltiness. He saw the glittering fish slowly clearing away rocks with controlled bursts of speed. Its charges shifted the stones around it when it struck, gradually widening the hole it made with its blade. Fear welled up in Fritz and he fled, swimming away as quickly as he could, injured leg, blood trail and all.

He swam towards that blue-green beacon, the only thing he could really see in the dark waters. He pushed his body with all the desperation of a man chased by a monstrous fish, which he was. He swam in a frenzy, barely looking back.

Until Fritz saw a glimpse of light, not from behind but just to the right of the Spire's light. Grimly he swam on, fumbling in his bag again trying to grab another ration bar. He missed and grabbed the small sealed tin. He put it in his pocket to keep it out of the way, so he wouldn’t grab it accidentally in a panic. Eventually he seized another wax-papered ration. He held it in his fist as he swam on, ready to tear it apart and dump it as a 'tasty' distraction.

More swimming and more flashes of that reflected light met Fritz's stinging eyes, a large shape was gliding through the water towards him, not as quick or jittery as the Quicksilver Swordfish but just as graceful and at home in the water. The behemoth approaching had dull grey plates for skin, a small seam could be seen between its massive fins and separating its top half from its underside. It had a huge almost triangular head with sightless white eyes and a wide maw filled with jagged dagger-sized fangs.

It flowed toward Fritz. Attracted to his blood no doubt. Though the makeshift bandage kept most of the blood from escaping its waxpaper prison, it was far from perfect. A small trail of dark liquid followed wherever he kicked his leg before slowly dissolving into the water.

Fritz tore the ration bar he was holding in two, letting it fall into the blood trail he had been leaving behind. Not a second too soon. The metal shark picked up speed and soared towards Fritz, its jaws snapping in anticipation of a meal.

The creature's maw slipped mere inches past Fritz, missing him. He swam into its wake, trying to escape its notice.

He fled again, ever onward to the beacon, it was slowly getting closer and closer. Without looking back, he would pull another of his ration bars, tearing it open and leaving it behind. He hoped to stall the creature's stalking his trail. It seemed to work. Until he finally ran out of bars.

In a moment of dark curiosity, Fritz looked over his shoulder. In the distance he could see the glittering Swordfish darting and slashing at the great lumbering behemoth as it followed Fritz.

No good, the fish would have to directly hit that strange seam in the shark's plates and pierce its unarmoured flesh that way to actually hurt it, theorised Fritz as he ploughed on through the dark.

Hope kindled in Fritz's chest as the outline of a great pillar of dark grey stone loomed before him.

Finally, the Spire lay no more than sixty feet in front of him, and slightly to the left he could see a glowing archway twice as tall as Fritz and four times as wide, rippling with that same blue-green light as the beacon.

He made towards it, but the warmth in his chest was starting to fade and his lungs were starting to clench in protest. He needed air. He could feel the potion's effects wearing off, slowly at first but then quicker. Cold began to grasp at his skin, then start to sink beneath it. The heat, his heat, was being choked and smothered.

Thirty feet away.

Fritz swam, his tired and freezing limbs cramping, again. His chest spasmed, trying to pull in phantom gasps of air.

Twenty feet away.

It wasn't enough, not enough air not enough time.

One last gambit then, Fritz.

He stared out at the fighting fish, hoping they had followed.

They had.

The quicksilver swordfish was far in the lead and gaining on Fritz, quickly zipping towards him in a gleaming blur.

He put himself between the fish and the archway, he unfurled the oil cloth in the water spreading it out and placing it in between him and the swordfish like a dreadfully thin wall or perhaps a curtain.

Then the last part of the plan, if he could call the desperate action such a thing. He ripped away his makeshift bandage and his blood poured out but it was only a trickle. Fearing it wouldn’t be enough to catch the monster’s attention fast enough he re-opened his wound, pulling at the flesh on either side of the laceration.

With a grunt, he exposed the deeper cavity of the wound to the briny depths.

More pain.

It was finally too much for Fritz.

He screamed, releasing his last breath that had been imprisoned in his suffocating lungs.

His vision was going black at the edges.

His heart was slowing.

He fought against the urge to breathe in the salty lake.

Even though he knew he was about to die, Fritz held on.

Holding the oil-cloth aloft, his heart slowing further and his thoughts turning to mud.

He was dying, he would die.

Then a shimmering blade pierced his oil cloth, and he yanked it down, just enough to cause the sword to stab his hip not his gut. Fritz used the oilcloth to wrap the fish's head, blinding it and causing it to charge forward blurring with its horrifying speed. It sped forward and Fritz wrapped his arms around its neck like a noose and held on.

There was terrible motion, his shirt flapped and rippled rapidly.

He was being dragged.

Through the water at great speed. Backwards. Towards the archway. Like he had planned.

His heart pumped furiously. He could hear it pounding in his ears.

It was the only thing he could hear. It was the only thing he knew.

His sight went black his thoughts disappeared and everything became his heartbeat.

Everything went still, silent.

Colour and sound came roaring back, a cacophony of images and half remembrances a meaningless babble of sensations, the cold and the need to breathe being foremost among them.

Fritz, that's who he was, took a breath drawing in a huge lung full of air. He coughed and spluttered salty water all over himself. Had he been swimming recently?

He sat up and tried to take in his surroundings as he shivered violently, using stinging eyes to look around at the unusual room, it was made of some kind of green crystal marbled with blue. Beside him was the large writhing Quicksilver Swordfish. It flopped around helplessly on the floor, its gills flaring attempting to suck in non-existent water. It still wore his oil cloth wrapped around its top half, its head and blade sticking through a now gaping hole in the material.

The fish struggled, thrashed and scraped its sword and scales against the strange green-blue crystal as it suffocated. Slowly it lost its vigour, its movements became slow and lethargic.

Fritz pushed away from the razor sharp fish not wanting to get slashed up more than he already was. It was hard work with the numbing cold that leadened his limbs, that and the incessant shivering.

“Oh Fritz you’re finally here, what took you so long? What in the Abyss is that!?” Bert called out shocked.

“I lost my all gear, but I found a fish,” Fritz explained helpfully. Then he lay back down, shivering all the while.

“I’m very, very cold, oh and I think I’m dying. I have a terrible battle wound on my calf here. I'm just going to die now, tell everyone I did so valiantly, Bert. They won't believe you, but show them the fish. That’ll convince them of my might, valour and all my great virtue,” Fritz chattered melodramatically.

The scraping and flopping of the fish finally went still and silent, as did the rest of the world, darkness closed in on Fritz.

Bert's voice broke the quiet and it was the last thing he heard.

“You’re not dying, you idiot! Why do you always do this!?”

Fritz valiantly died.