Kofi's Kite
By Oscar S. Cisneros [Author Info]Through a massive cavern the young drow flew. He peddled fiercely on a tightly tuned contraption of metal and canvas. Eons ago the cavern's walls were worn through by the rush of arctic waters, but today the tunnels were warm and dry. Dodging amongst the ceiling's giant stalactites, Kofi's only guide was the occasional drifting mote of light or a patch of glowing fungi. He was headed for the fortress with a vial that would alter the fates of the four races of this underground realm.
Already he could hear it's massive turrets grinding. The ancient metal once again brought to groaning life by his presence. No one really knows why the fortress was built. The severity of its deep purple steel rang of dwarven make but the duergar claimed no title it. Since their liberation from drow enslavement three centuries ago, the Orcs had sung their garish songs behind its giant face. But thoughts of history were not with Kofi now, only fear.
The clamor grew louder. He would soon fly into the killing field -- the final stretch of cave before the fortress. Long ago the majestic face had spewed fire from its turret-eyes, scorching clean the cave below and above. No one dared remove the fused scraps of melted armor and bone before its face.
There was no need for stealth now. Propelled by propellers afore and aft, Kofi dove hard from the cave top, gaining speed. There were light motes concentrated in the killing field, placed there by Orc warlocks. Kofi tore past them like a flimsy comet racing past glowing asteroids. He looked up in time to see the first volley begin: on each turret spun four massive cannons, stubby in length. Their groan had long since drowned out the delicate whir of his flit-kite's gears. The first boom shocked him but the instinct of months of training kicked in -- he dove. Instantly, a massive flaming ball of metal flew above him, it's wind-wake almost knocking him from his craft and singeing its wings.
But It was all over then: Before the next canon could load, Kofi drew his windbow. One trigger click and the finger-sized vial rifled out under the intense pressure of gas. The glass shattered on the fortress' face. Quickly, he pulled hard into a half loop leaving him flying away upside down as the next blast blew by. Soon he was out of range. His whole body was numb and the path ahead was long, but he knew the vial's spores would begin to spread even before he left the killing field.
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Copyright © 1999 by Oscar S. Cisneros. This material may be distributed only subject to the terms and conditions set forth in the Open Publication License, v.04 1998 or later (the latest version is presently available at http://www.opencontent.org/openpub/).
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