The Node - Chapter Two

         Zillian groaned and raised his head as he heard the sound of the door shutting and locking nearby.  He looked down at himself -- or rather, he tried to.  The chain attached to his neck would not allow him to move that muscle.  He was bloody and torn, covered in shackles, with a dagger protruding from his chest.  It had punctured a lung, which was beginning to collapse.
         Zillian reached towards his chest -- to his surprise, his hands were not bound, though it mattered little -- and pulled the knife free, dropping it to the ground.  He felt the flesh knitting itself back together, and with a great effort he held his hand out and muttered a few words.  It was a simple spell, and it brought his talisman to him, which was all he thought he needed.
         Slamming the large piece of wood into his chains, he at first smiled as he saw the chains beginning to break apart.  Then, with one mighty final blow, they shattered, sending Zillian tumbling to the ground.
         He stopped his fall and rolled forward with the momentum, coming to his feet about ten feet away from the spot where he’d been chained.  In the same motion, he whirled around and pointed the talisman towards the bolted metal door.  A burst of energy came forth from it.
         The last thing that Zillian saw before his vision disappeared was his own blast striking the door – and rebounding with tremendous force.  His prone body struck the iron wall, power rippling through Zillian’s very being, and the talisman clattered to the ground.
         Brann stepped out from behind the dented door, touching it with one finger.  “A pity,” he hissed, then shut it and started towards Zillian.  Two guards followed him, but he waved them off, then reached down and picked up the talisman, his hands grasping around it.  It glowed, and Brann smiled.  “Thank you,” he said, then thrust out his foot, colliding with Zillian’s head.
         Brann strode out of the room, glowing talisman in hand, and handed it to one of the guards.  “Lock it up.”  The young man nodded, saluted awkwardly, and quickly rushed off to complete Brann’s task.
         Brann smiled, tapping the door behind him.  He looked back and forth, then muttered, “Shila,” under his breath and watched as the dent in the door disappeared.  He heard a grunt of pain from inside, then another blast of energy, shaking the door.
         From inside of the cell, Zillian shrieked and fell against the wall again.
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         Adren shouted in surprise as the pikeman barrelled into him, knocking him off of his feet and sending him rolling across the floor.  He pushed himself back up before the charging soldier could reach him and snarled a curse before drawing his sword out of its sheath.  With the familiar sound of metal scraping against metal, he flicked his wrist, and the sword became a dagger in his hand, ready to be thrown.
         He thrust his hand forward and let the knife sail through the air.  The pikeman shouted something in a language Adren couldn’t understand and knocked the blade aside with his spear, then stepped back and charged again.  Adren held out his hand and the dagger flew through the air, landing in his hand.  With another flick of his wrist, it was a sword once more.  Adren swung his blade at the spear-wielding newcomer and shouted.
         He rolled forward, pushing a hand against the ground and vaulting up, his blade tangling with the foe’s spear.  That was an even better result than he’d been hoping for, as Adren’s enemy found himself sorely pressed by two copies of the trickster, fighting them off with only a short sword.  One of the copies was hit in the chest and gasped in pain, then collapsed to the ground.
         Adren was sailing through the air at the time, and he flicked a finger in the armored fighter’s direction, sending him sprawling to the ground.  The other copy stood over the man, holding his sword high, with his foot firmly planted on N’shyi’s chest.
         N’shyi spit on Adren, and the illusion faded, just as the real Adren landed on the ground nearby and bounded over to him.  He felt a similar rush of pain as the boot hit him in the side of the head.  He rolled over and muttered something under his breath, just before the sword that had been in his weak grasp shattered.
         One of the shards approached his head at a breakneck pace, and in an instant, he was lying on the ground with the shard sticking out of his head..  With his last motion, however, he had pushed Adren across the wall of light.
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         The bladedancer tumbled through the edge of the cavern, looking back at the swirling portal.  He was almost blinded by the bright lights, and he tried to push himself up, to return himself to the Node, yet he couldn’t even stand.  He just lay there, blood pooling on the ground from a wound in his side, his vision slowly fading.
         He was standing in a huge crowd of people -- much larger than he felt comfortable with.  There was a man high above, standing with his head bowed on a platform.  There was someone with a rope right next to him.  He’s about to be hanged, Adren realized, looking up with horror.  He could see the man’s eyes, and instead of circular pupils he had tiny slits of black.
         Adren snapped his fingers and rose into the air, taking a step forward.  Though he was floating, the air was as the ground to him, and with a few quick strides, he reached the condemned man.  The executioner made a grab for him, and he drew his sword.  A gasp went through the crowd, and as Adren swung his sword, the masked man dived down, pulling a wooden lever.  Adren felt the platform fall from beneath him, and he plummeted.
         The wind rushed past him, whistling in his ears as he approached the ground quickly.  The crowd jeered, and each of them took up some sort of makeshift weapon.  He landed in the middle of the peasant army, surrounded by shouting, pitchforks, burning torches...
         They closed in quickly.  A blow landed on Adren’s head, and he collapsed to the ground.
         Adren woke with a gasp, pushing himself up.  Though it had only been a dream, he wasn’t next to the portal anymore.  He was lying on the ground in the street, bits of trash surrounding him.  His sword lay on the ground nearby to him, covered in blood.  It was nighttime, and though it was the middle of winter there was no snow on the ground.  Adren looked up and squinted, seeing the outline of a sword floating in midair high above.
         Adren grabbed his own blade and pushed himself off of the ground, then sheathed it and looked around nervously.  There was another man lying on the street, blood surrounding him.  A knife protruded from his chest.  The bladedancer walked over to the dead man and kneeled  down.  It was his dagger.  He pried it free and stared down at it with confusion, then thrust it into its scabbard and walked with shaky steps down the street.
         The alleyway poured out onto some sort of town common, a large grassy field with some sparsely placed trees, most of which were shorter than normal.  Adren saw a woman walking through the field, looking back and forth.  Adren took a closer look at the common and realized what was positioned in the center -- a gallows, just like the one he had seen in his dream.
         Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man in dusty robes being dragged down the street on the other side of the common, held in an arm lock by a large, burly man with a grim smile on his face.  The man from his dream.
         Zillian snarled and twisted, but it did no good.  He couldn’t break free from the man’s grasp.  His hands were held so that he couldn’t move them beyond twitches, and his mouth was gagged.  His eyes were covered by a blindfold.  The sorcerer kicked at the man, who temporarily lost his grip, and Zillian made a break for it, but he wasn’t fast enough.
         In a few moments, Adren reached Zillian, even though he didn’t know what he was doing, and drew his sword.  His eyes glazed over and he knew no more, yet still his body continued moving.  He swung his sword, making a noise somewhat like a growl, and his foot collided with the Inquisitor’s head.  The woman from the common screamed and drew a knife from somewhere, tossing it through the air before fleeing.
         The knife almost hit Adren in the back -- almost.  He swung about, his sword flashing through the air, and it was knocked aside.  In the same motion, he reached out with his free hand and snagged the dagger, then dove towards the Inquisitor with it.
         The man groaned with pain as lacerating wounds opened on his side from the bladedancer’s swift attacks.  He threw a punch in Adren’s direction, knocking the man away and sending him sprawling across the ground, then turned on Zillian.
         By then, the sorcerer had recovered and torn off both the gag and the blindfold.  He held out his hands and a staff appeared in them.  With one swift crack over the head, the Inquisitor collapsed, his skull almost completely shattered.  Adren stood up an leaped towards the Inquisitor’s dead body, driving his blade into it again and again.  His eyes slowly regained their perception, and Zillian looked towards Adren.
         “Who are you?” he asked, immediately regretting it.  It didn’t matter, he reasoned, and it wasn’t hi business.  The man had helped him escape, and that was all he needed to know.  Zillian sighed and turned away, running down the trash-strewn street.
         Adren let out a deep breath and followed after the sorcerer, sheathing his sword.  His boots clapped against the stone pavement as he fled, one hand clenched into a fist, the other holding a minuscule crystal in between its thumb and forefinger.
         Zillian’s hands clutched the staff in a tight grip, his bony fingers grasping around the edges of the implement.  The sorcerer’s breath came in ragged gasps, and his eyelids were half-closed.  His throat was parched from his days without sustenance.
         Zillian waved his fingers, and a receptacle of water appeared before him.  He grabbed it out of the air as the spell wore away and it fell towards the ground, then lifted it to his dry, cracked lips.  He gasped as he drank the water, then snapped his fingers and watched as the container before him vanished.
         Adren closed in behind Zillian, holding out his hand to collide with the sorcerer.  He muttered a word under his breath and swung his blade through the air in an upward arc.  Both of them disappeared in a flash of light.
         Zillian’s staff clattered to the ground, leaving the Inquisitors with next to nothing.