Firesign 1 - Wage Slave Rebellion (21 page)

They had nothing.

“Great,” said Mazik. “Doors. Anyone see any doors?” he asked as he raised a glowing hand at an encroaching cultist. The man backed off, rejoining his fellows as they prepared for another assault.

“There was one, on the other side of the stage,” said Gavi as she passed the woman in white to another former captive and took up her sword.

“Of course it would be on the other side,” said Mazik. He pulled himself up as straight as he could, ignoring the pain in his injuries this caused. He sighed. “Fuck it, we better go for it. Come on.”

The cultists were slow learners, but they were learning. Bunching up hadn’t served them well against Mazik’s nukes, so when the escapees burst out of the corner they found the cultists spread out in a loose semi-circle around them. Unfortunately, Mazik and the others weren’t interested in fighting, so he just blasted the two cultists directly in their way and led the group in a mad sprint through the gap.

As the others stumbled, scraped, and scuttled their way across the warehouse with all the energy they could muster—which wasn’t very much—Mazik zagged away from the others and leapt back on the stage. Stooping down next to the hole, he scooped up the late Head Cultist’s staff and, after almost falling back in, hurled it unevenly toward the others. “Rae, catch!”

Raedren wasn’t the most athletic fellow at the best of times, so fortunately the pale Man was there to catch the staff after he fumbled.

“Thanks,” said Raedren, accepting the staff. “What’s this for?”

“It’s a magick staff!” said Mazik as he sprinted to catch up, firing spells as he went to keep the cultists’ heads down. “Use it for magick! Or for hitting people. Or as a walking stick, I don’t care.”

“So now we’re robbing corpses.”

“Rae, this quest officially makes us adventurers.” Mazik leapt down to join them. “So yes, absolutely.”

Raedren smiled thinly, his face nearly as ashen as his new staff. “Point.”

“Good man,” said Mazik, patting him on the back. “You can pull off the bones and shit if they’re too tacky for you. Now go!” he said, pushing his friend forward. “Get to that door and channel for a few. I’m going to slow them down,” he said, and turned back to face the enemy.

“
Hey!
No fucking heroics!” yelled Gavi, spinning back toward Mazik.

“Come on, who do you think I am?” said Mazik. He winked at her. “There’s only one of me, and I wouldn’t want to deprive the world of someone this great.” Then he grunted as a cultist nuke slammed into his arm, nearly burning through his barriers. Another layer of blue flashed into existence around him, followed by a weaker one of green. Mazik smiled wanly and held his ground.

“Then what are you doing?” asked Gavi as she reached him.

“Giving us a little breathing room,” said Mazik. He raised his glowing hands and took aim—at the wooden racks above.

First it was the boxes, which flew off the shelves and exploded like cardboard hailstones. Then it was the crates full of raw cloth and old clothing, which crashed down and shattered into a thousand splintery pieces. Then it was the pallets, with their massive spools and weaving machines and hundreds of kilos of products, and before the cultists could react Mazik had reached out with his mind and cracked the entire rack in half, sending spires of wood hurtling toward his enemies like spears from a vengeful god.

The cultists panicked, some running, others disappearing, others staying in place and firing magick into the air, disintegrating the falling objects in clouds of burning wood and wool. And some cultists were buried too, but that was just a bonus. Mazik had gotten what he wanted—the cultists were scattered, and there was a huge pile of busted, jagged debris between them and his group. He had bought them time.

“This way take us out?” Mazik asked as he and Gavi joined the others huddled around the corner door.

Raedren shook his head. “Looks like a janitor’s closet.”

Mazik swore.

“Maz, I don’t see any other doors,” said Gavi.

“Hold on, that doesn’t make any sense,” said Mazik. “There have to be loading docks around here somewhere….”

Mazik held up a hand, and a tiny pinpoint of mana appeared, which turned yellow and glowed brightly as he cradled it in his palm. Shaping his hand into a searchlight, he swept it across the wall adjoining the one they just ran along.

“Aha!” said Mazik. “That’s our exit.”

Halfway down the side of the warehouse, nearly obscured by the piles of boxes that had been stacked in front of it, Mazik’s light revealed two rusty garage-style doors fitted neatly into the stone wall.

“Can we even get those things open?” asked Gavi as the first few cultists began firing at them again.

“Don’t know, but it should be easier than cutting through a stone wall,” said Mazik. “Though on second thought…”

“Rejected!” said Gavi, grabbing Mazik by the arm. He laughed as she pushed him in front of her.

Dodging a light smattering of nukes, Mazik provided covering fire as they ran along yet another wall. He was still the first one to arrive at the doors. He immediately climbed up the stack of crates in front of the nearest one.

“I may be able to get these open,” said Mazik, knocking on the metal. Pressing his back against it, he walked down between the crates and the door until he was on the ground again. He pushed against the crates with his legs, shoving them out of the way and making a space for himself to work.

“I’m coming in.” Gavi slid into the small space, pushing crates aside to make a pathway.

Mazik peered along the gate, looking for a lock. He found one in the middle and, after carefully aiming with his index finger, blew it apart on the third try. Then he squatted down and tested the door. He grunted noisily as he lifted, but the big doors wouldn’t budge.

“Anyone who’s strong and not named Raedren, please get in here and help me out!” said Mazik. He tried again. It still refused to budge.

Gavi climbed over Mazik and crouched down to help. The fiery young man, the veteran, the pale Man, and two others climbed into the gap as well, each taking hold of the door and preparing to lift.

“On three,” said Gavi. “One, two,
three!
”

Nothing. The cultists were regrouping, the first few having already staggered into view and resumed firing.

“Again!” said Mazik. They tried, but the doors stayed firmly shut. Mazik looked for another lock, but he couldn’t find one.

They tried again, and then Gavi let go of the door and stood up. “This isn’t working, and they’re going to attack any time now. I’m going back out.”

“Do it,” said Mazik. “I’ve got another idea.”

“What ar—?” Gavi started to say before the tiny crevasse filled with blue light.

“Hii
yah!
” said Mazik, and like the martial arts master he was not, he took his glowing fist and punched right through the door. Metal screamed as his fist ripped through it like aluminum foil.

“Get back!” said Mazik. Shaking his stinging hand, he decided to change tactics. Pointing at the edges of the hole with both hands, Mazik focused and fired continuous beams of mana, creating the caster equivalent of a pair of welder’s torches. Mazik traced the beams down the door, carving out an oval nearly as tall as him.

“Mazik, hurry up!” said Gavi as she picked up boxes and hurled them at the cultists. Nearly all of them were there. “They’re about to charge!”

“Just hold on, I’m almost there….” The metal hissed and bubbled, burning pits into Mazik’s clothes. He could feel the dull ringing sound inside his head of someone telepathically calling him.

Gavi threw one last box at the cultists and then drew her sword. She looked over to Raedren, who was still leaning against the wall, exhausted. “You ready?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” said Raedren, giving her a thumbs-up. He looked like he could barely stand.

“Got it!” said Mazik. His spells cut off, and he kicked the oval cutout through the hole with a hollow
clang
. “Let’s see what we’ve got here…” he said as he ducked and stepped through the opening, eager to see what was on the other side.

“Mazik!” yelled Gavi as the assembled cultists charged.

Mazik stared across the room. It looked like another warehouse, albeit one smaller and infinitely less crowded than the one they were trying to escape, but Mazik knew better. The storage racks shoved against the walls, the wide open area in the middle, the empty wagons along one side—this was a loading dock. And that meant…

There it was. On the far side of the loading dock, past the empty boxes and old ladders and overturned carts, were two doors just like the one Mazik just cut through, only they were made of wood, and flanking them on either side were a pair of windows. Windows that showed the street outside.

Outside.

Mazik tossed his head back and laughed. “Let them come, Gavs! I do believe I’ve found the way out!”

It all went by in a blur. The former captives scrambled through the impromptu doorway first, while Raedren and Gavi brought up the rear, the two of them just barely making it through before Mazik stepped in front of the opening and filled it with killing light. The wall of crates beyond started to collapse on the cultists, but by then Mazik and the others were already gone.

They ran! They sprinted and stumbled and whooped in joy, chests heaving and legs pumping as they raced for the distant door. They all ran like they had never run before, but none could match Mazik. The danger, the challenge, the thrill—he felt so alive! Mazik laughed as he ran, his feet light and his body singing as it sailed on wings of magick. He raised his hands high, his palms covered in sputtering blue light, and fired. The door exploded, the wood twisting and blackening as it shattered outward, and—

Light. Not a lot, granted, but compared to the darkness of the warehouse, lit only by the flicker of torches and flashes of deadly magick, the street lamps were as welcome as the sun on the brightest of summer afternoons. They were out. They had done it. They had
won!

Guards converged on them, and Mazik had never been so happy to see those copper uniforms before. “They’re in there!” he yelled, pointing as he ran.

“Are you the adventurers?” demanded an old guard with a spotted gray beard and a perpetual scowl. Mazik and the others came to an immediate stop as weapons were leveled at them.

“Y-yes, we’re them,” said Gavi. It sounded weird to say that, even if she knew it was now true.

The old guard scowled at them, then looked at someone behind him. “Looks like these are them. Probably.” He nodded to a copper beside him. “Corporal, get a squad on this lot and make sure they don’t go anywhere until we’re finished.”

Coppers immediately set upon the former captives, gently taking weapons away from them and guiding them away from the action.

“They’re using some kind of invisibility magick,” said Gavi between grateful breaths of sweet Houkian air, which goes to show what someone has to go through to enjoy Houk’s air. “Do you have casters who can see them? We can—”

“We’ve got it covered,” said an old guard. He lifted his truncheon and pointed at the building. “All right, looks like we’re on cleanup! Casters up front, enhance your sight if you got it. Let’s go!”

As coppers rushed past into the building, Mazik, Gavi, and Raedren stumbled away. The adrenaline that had been driving them for so long was leaving them, and though they could have used magick to replace it, they suddenly found that they didn’t want to. One after another, they staggered over to a nearby patch of grass and collapsed, panting and shaking and smiling together.

“Wow,” said Gavi, sitting down. She flopped onto her back, staring up at the night sky.

“Yes. Wow,” agreed Raedren, doing likewise.

Coppers immediately circled them, as much to keep them in as to keep any wayward cultists out.

Mazik stared at the warehouse for a long second. “Fuck yes!” he said suddenly, pumping his fists into the air, before realizing that took too much energy and flopping onto his back. Mazik looked at his two friends, his teammates, and grinned. “We did it!”

“Y-yeah!” said Gavi, lifting her arm. “We … shit, I’m tired,” she said, her hand dropping to the grass with a dull thud. She laughed. So did the others.

“Yeah, me too,” said Mazik, and he pivoted so that he was draped across his two friends, his legs across Raedren’s knees and his head on Gavi’s stomach. Gavi protested weakly, but soon gave up, too tired to move. As explosions and yelling went on inside the distant warehouse, that’s where the three of them stayed, basking in the glow of victory, of camaraderie, and in their complete inability to move.

“Hey,” said a voice above them. They looked up, and found several former captives above them.

The veteran stuck out his hand. “I know this is presumptuous, but I wanted to shake the hand of the people who saved my life. Thank you.”

Never had a hand been taken in such reverential awe. First was Raedren, shaking it softly. Then was Mazik, whose shake was firm, a huge grin on his face. The veteran returned Mazik’s grin, and then shook Gavi’s hand, adding in a bow. She returned both.

Then they were mobbed, hands thrust forward and heads bowing and words of thanks and appreciation and praise swirling around them like the indigo mana that had sought to destroy them not long ago.

“What are your names? What do we call you?” asked the businessman, still clutching a bloodstained sword. A copper came over and gently took the weapon away from him.

Mazik grinned, and pointed to each of them in turn. “This is Gavi Ven’Kalil, he’s Raedren Ian’Moro, and I’m the great Mazik I. Kil’Raeus, and you can call us—” Mazik stopped. He let his head fall back onto Gavi’s stomach and laughed. “Tired!”

“Tired, and glad that worked,” said Gavi, pushing at Mazik’s head. Raedren gave them a thumbs-up. Then they were mobbed again, everyone thanking them by their names this time.

Kalenia watched the scene from beneath a streetlamp, watching as Mazik and the others laughed with the abandon of those who were right now supremely alive, because they had so recently risked death. She watched, held onto the streetlamp beside her, and let out a long sigh.