The Spirit Wilds: Magic of the Green Sage (Fall of the Sages Book 1), стр. 41

Dorrick had no choice. He hefted his shield from his back and slammed the flat of his sword against it like a drum. The noise drew the spirit’s attention, just as he knew it would.

“Keep it busy!” he yelled. “Rock spirits are dense. You can confuse it with lots of rapid movement and noise.”

They did as they were told. Once Marcella had Nessa up and ready, they both took out their bows, started jogging around the spirit, and loosed their arrows. They didn’t do any damage from what they could tell, but it did the trick in keeping the monster’s attention.

Tomys dragged Borner away and out of trouble while Payne joined in with distracting the spirit. Dorrick knew Tomys had some specialized medical training. All knights had a basic knowledge of medicine, but Tomys took advanced classes with the resident doctors of the order. He hoped Borner would be okay. The force with which the spirit struck would kill many, but he had armor so Dorrick had to be hopeful.

While the others distracted the rock spirit, Dorrick ran to where he’d dropped his pack and took a knee. He riffled through it, looking for the key to beating the beast. Come on, where are you? he thought with a frustrated grimace. Ah-ha! There it was. He pulled out the small, leather-bound case wrapped in hide. He undid the bindings and opened the case within to reveal a fine lapis lazuli ocarina.

These ocarinas emitted a frequency that sent many spirits into a slumber, where they deteriorated. Not all, of course, because that would be too easy. But many nature spirits were affected by it, and rock spirits were no exception.

All knights were trained to use every instrument, potion, and alternate means to defeat all manner of spirits. Some were unorthodox. Some were as simple as throwing some liquid onto a spirit. And for now, it was simply being able to play an ocarina. Dorrick was trained to do just that.

He sheathed his sword. The rock spirit whirled around, trying to lock onto Nessa or Marcella but failing to pick a target. Perfect. Dorrick brought the ocarina to his lips and blew.

Music escaped him and filled the air, a beautiful sound that always made him smile when he practiced. Who knew something so stunning could be so helpful? As soon as the music hit the air, the rock spirit roared so loud that it shook the ground, but Dorrick didn’t break his concentration.

The rock spirit dropped to its knees and covered its “ears”—if that was what one would call it. As the music built, the spirit tried to move, but it simply couldn’t. It shook violently. Its rocky skin began to crumble, pebbles at a time. Slow but steady. No matter, his sword, which was imbued with anti-spirit warding magics, would be able to finish it.

He kept playing, the spirit silent now, on its knees. He approached it, one deliberate step in front of the other. Careful not to break the rhythm, Dorrick released one hand from the ocarina and unsheathed his sword. Playing an ocarina expertly required two hands, but this didn’t require expert precision or a specific sequence of notes to be effective. The sound was enough, and one hand was enough.

Sword in hand, the younger Vane stood over the rock spirit. So close, the thing was massive. Too big. It felt like his sword would do nothing next to the bulk of this thing, but he trusted in his training and what he’d been taught. His sword was enough. This method was proven to work. So, he stood next to the head of the rock spirit and put the tip of his blade next to the neck of the beast.

He reared his arm back, ready to plunge it in, ready to end this and avenge the lives lost in the town, but—

“No!” a shrill voice called, cutting through the cold mountain air. Dorrick and his companions looked in the direction of the town, where the voice had come from. He expected to find a villager, but that wasn’t who had arrived.

Dorrick couldn’t understand what he was seeing. Two young women about his age strode into view. Neither were dressed for the cold mountain air in the slightest. One had blazing red hair beneath a pointy green hat. She wore a skirt and bra made of what seemed like leaves, leaving a lot of skin showing. Her feet were bare, but if the snow bothered her, she didn’t show it. In her hand was a long walking stick with a glowing flower at the tip.

Her companion wore a similar getup, though her clothes were at least stitched. She wore shorts that went to right above the knee, elaborate sandals, a cropped shirt that exposed her stomach, and a torso that was covered by beads and trinkets hanging from her neck. Her eyes were a bright teal, almost otherworldly. And she had an arrow knocked and ready to fire.

Before Dorrick was able to score the killing blow on the spirit, the red-haired girl slammed her staff against the ground. A shock wave of white light shot forth and threw him and his squires off their feet.

For a brief moment, Tuni was in awe. She and the sage came free of the magic and were no longer at the hut, but in a cold mountain town, snowy peaks looming over them with the sun making the white-covered ground almost blinding. So pretty. The air felt amazing on her skin. She was used to the heat and humidity of the Mushroom Wilds. This place was far different.

But then she saw the blood and the bodies and the destruction, and reality set in.

The town was a wreck. The tall, dark buildings—bigger than any she’d ever seen before—were in a state of ruin. She bet that it probably looked warm and welcoming and downright painting-worthy at its best, but now, it was a ruin. Of course, that was nothing next to the death.