The beast seemed a bit surprised at her response. Perhaps it hadn’t expected her to be receptive to the offer.
“Take everything you are already and make it ten times as strong. You can convert humans to krolls to serve you without question. I have my own kingdom! You’ve seen how useless humans are against my minions. There will be little we could not conquer with a kroll army behind us.”
“And would I be serving you too?” She couldn’t help a little contempt slipping into her voice. She knew that, to make it seem real — as if she was actually considering this — she’d need to have some resistance and concerns. A large one would be her own autonomy.
“No. Krollocs cannot be controlled by other krollocs. Our minds are too strong. But you could control any krolls you find or create.”
“And the krolls you already have. Could I control them?”
The beast laughed. “Perhaps, but it takes some time to master such things. I would not recommend trying to turn on me. Perhaps I might give you a couple, but mostly you would have to make your own krolls.”
She began taking a few steps toward him, trying to make them look reluctant. “Who were you?” she asked. “Why did you do this?”
“I had little choice in the matter, and who I was before is long forgotten. I was weak before despite being a drahksan. Compared to this form, I was nothing. I was transformed against my will, but I quickly grew to like my new form. I’ve been like this for more than two hundred years! The power of the ritual sustains us. Krollocs can live as long as dragons!”
She drew closer. The krolloc was reveling in his own superiority, caught up in his own pitch. She wasn’t sure if she’d convinced it she was interested, but it didn’t seem concerned at her slow approach. Perhaps because of that sense of arrogance and power. Maybe it didn’t see her as a threat at all.
She would be in a moment.
She scanned the thing’s body looking for a weak point, something she could exploit. The eye was the obvious one. If she could take out the other eye and blind it she might have a chance against it. Though if it had the same battle-senses as she did, just eliminating its eyes wouldn’t hinder is as much as most people. The only weak spot was its left leg near the ankle. Several of the cuts had healed but it seemed Jais or Barami or both had cut it several times there, some deeply. Though with a short sword she’d have to get really close and might just break her sword in the process. It was a weak point, but one that would be harder for her to exploit.
She also searched for her friends. Jais had fallen behind a bunch of jagged rocks at the side of the room. She knew roughly where he was, but couldn’t see him. As for Barami’s location, she had no idea and after a quick glance of the area still couldn’t find him. She worried for her friend, wondering what had happened to him.
She needed to keep the krolloc distracted as she got even closer. “This ritual, what does it involve?”
The krolloc laughed. “It isn’t pleasant by any means, but the end result is worth it. You are plunged down on a stake in the ground. Your blood needs to flow freely. Then a group of at least four must surround you and chant the ancient words as you die. Then you stop being who you are and become something else, something incredible. It doesn’t take too long, and once the transformation is done you’ll be a force of nature.”
No, that didn’t sound that appealing. She’d definitely pass.
She was about to rush in and try to take out the krolloc’s remaining eye, when she saw something in her periphery. She risked a glance.
Jais felt as if he was a beach and the tide was coming in. Only the tide wasn’t water, but pain. Each wave washing over him was more intense than the last. He was grinding his teeth, eyes clamped shut and watering. He knew he’d most likely lose consciousness soon.
He dug deep within himself and there found the core of hope that the statue of Thadros had instilled. He latched onto that and remembered his aunt and her need of him. He thought of the parents he’d never known. A mother who had been a ‘soul-weaver’ of great strength and a father who could use this sword in ways like no other. That was what his aunt had told him.
I am with you.
That voice again, a deep resounding baritone. It was unfamiliar and yet…
“Father?”
A rumbling chuckle. You can call me Dek if you like. It’s short for Deklon.
“How?” He heard his own voice, strained and squeaking.
Your mother was indeed powerful. Before I died she wove my spirit into this sword.
Jais felt the smoothed leather grip in his palm. His father’s sword… his father’s spirit. In the haze of pain that befuddled him he didn’t question that he was speaking with his dead father’s spirit through a sword. Somehow that made sense to him.
Your mother was also a great healer. You may have inherited some of her ability. Use it. Heal yourself. The voice was growing more urgent. Did it know something he didn’t?
“How?” This time he barely got the word out, but the voice speaking to him didn’t seem to speak or hear the same as a living person.
I honestly don’t know, son. healing was never something I could do. But you’re dying. You need to try something.
Ah, so that’s what his father knew that he didn’t. Jais had still thought he could recover from this on his own, but apparently his injuries were more severe than that.
Which meant his only choice was to try to heal himself.
But how?
He tried to remember what aunt Sarelle had done. She’d used her goo, but that was just an aid. She’d explained it to him once, and he struggled — through his mind’s ever increasing fog — to recall her words.
“I imbue the gel with a little healing energy when I create it. The gel itself will heal people quicker than any poultice or potion. But I can also use it in conjunction with my own healing if someone is severely sick or hurt. The gel then acts as a sort of conduit and increases my healing as I meditate over them. The gel is also less… directed in its effect. You can put it directly on a wound and that’s fine, but if you have internal injuries or an illness it isn’t as effective. That’s when I need to concentrate on reading the body and directing my energy at the spot in question.”
The words jumbled together for a moment, fading in and out of clarity for him.
Meditation… reading the body… directing energy.
He’d never been great at meditation. His mind always wandered, consumed with too many thoughts. Now… it was far worse, concentrating was nearly impossible through the pain.
He was having trouble breathing.
Unconsciousness, and with it probably death, tugged at him. Maybe he’d skip over the meditating part and try reading his body.
He went back to that core of hope again. It was deep within him. If he had to place it physically it felt like it would be low in his chest, near his heart. From there he spread out his awareness. Things came to him slowly: a broken rib… no three broken ribs… and several other ribs fractured, the muscles around these were bruised and sore. Some of the broken bits of ribs were tearing into muscle or organs. Bleeding, internally and externally; he could feel the flow of blood and how it was all wrong, seeping in where it shouldn’t and out like it definitely shouldn’t. Outward from there he found his gut mostly intact, just bruised and jostled. His hip was fractured. His left arm broken, right arm sore, bruised and cut up. Left leg was broken through the lower portion and fractured through the thigh. Right leg was just sore and cut up. Feet were mostly fine, just tender from having been on them for days. His head was jostled, brain swollen, skin cut and bruised, a cut on his neck bleeding.
Now he understood how he was dying and how much time he had left. It was a terrifying realization, because it wasn’t much time at all.
Now he knew what was wrong, but how to heal it? He needed to direct his energy at it.
What energy? His strength was fading fast, nearly gone.
Take some of mine.
How? He w
asn’t even able to speak the words anymore.
Touch my blade. I can channel energy through the blade itself.
He didn’t respond. He just used his hand on the grip to pull the sword a little closer, inch by inch. Then stretched out a finger to find the blade.
He felt the cold steel.
And energy flowed into him.
It was a rush, almost too much, flowing in through his arm, and for a moment he didn’t know what to do with it. Then he remembered his wounds and reconnected with them, directing the energy to the worst ones first. His brain shrank, and his mind cleared, that helped to use the energy his father was giving him more effectively: ribs and organs, internal bleeding and the worst of the external cuts, his neck and a few others. Bones moved back into position and re-fused from broken, fractures melted away and…
The energy was gone.
That’s all I have for now, sorry, son.
It hadn’t been enough. He was mostly healed, but far from what he’d call ‘hale and healthy’. A few fractures remained, as well as most of his bruising and the sting from numerous cuts and scrapes. But he wasn’t dying anymore and that was something. The rest he could heal on his own, given time.
He grunted and pulled himself up to a sitting position. His vision blurred for a moment, and he had to pause. He’d lost a lot of blood and was fatigued and worn, his strength and stamina seemed long used up. He wouldn’t be much use in a fight. He needed an edge.
He shook his head to try to clear it and when he opened his eyes, he noticed something not far away.
The sword he’d used to stab the krolloc in the back, that first time.
It lay there… discarded, probably thrown away once it had been pulled out of the thing’s back.
That was an edge… of sorts.
He thanked the gods and retrieved it. It took him a moment to stand, then another to find his balance. One of his legs was quite sore and weak. He’d be limping for a while.
He carefully climbed the jagged rocks shielding him from the rest of the room. As he did he became aware of voices, one clearly the krolloc and the other was… Caerwyn.
Caerwyn was saying: “…this ritual, what does it involve?”
The krolloc answered, describing what Jais had seen when the person had been turned into a kroll. He shuddered.
He reached the peak of the rocks and looked over.
Caerwyn’s head shifted slightly, her gaze caught his. She gave a faint nod and smile before her attention returned to the krolloc.
“You’re not doing a great job of selling this ritual,” she said. She was quite close, and the krolloc seemed little aware of the danger so near, perhaps believing he was convincing her to join him.
Jais crept over the rocks and slipped as quietly as he could back toward the beast.
30
Caerwyn had to buy more time.
She’d been going to attack the krolloc before she’d seen Jais, but now, with him back in the fight, which she was incredibly thankful for, she needed to give him time to get into a better position. He was carrying two swords now and would have a far better chance of hurting this thing than she did with her little short sword.
She dropped her sword. It clattered to the stone floor.
“So, you will join me?” the krolloc said, even more surprised now. It laughed. “You’d be the first to willingly go into the ritual that I know of.”
“I have always sought power.” She was dangerously close to the beast now. She’d taken several steps from her dropped sword. However, half of Davlas lay nearby, the end with the point. She wasn’t sure how it would fly in such shape, but was relieved that there was at least some weapon within reach.
“How many krolls do you control?” She glanced back at those dead or dying behind her. “I haven’t taken them all from you, have I?”
“Hardly,” it said and laughed. “There are more out there raiding the village as we speak.”
The village?
If the krolls were freely running through Klasten’s Green, there wouldn’t be much left of the town now. Caerwyn felt a pang of sympathy for the town’s folk. Many of them were innocent, decent people. Some… were less so, but still didn’t deserve such a fate.
Jais was still a little ways off, clambering over some of the more uneven rocks around the edge of the room.
The krolloc grunted, and she realized she hadn’t said anything in the last few moments. She was practically at its feet, weaponless. She had no clue what to say next, and Jais was still too far away.
The krolloc began to turn.
Her mind flashed with the memory that the beast could smell drahksani. It might know Jais was coming. She needed to distract it further.
She put a hand on its leg. “Tell me about your life.”
The words seemed odd, even to her, and the krolloc looked down at her with a skeptical expression. Then it laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound.
“You think you’ll keep me from noticing your friend?”
She swore in her mind.
She dove to the side just as it kicked out at her. She grabbed the half of Davlas nearby, then rolled and came up ready. She threw as the krolloc turned toward her, raising a hand to shield its face. The spear sank into the hand and that was it. Her hope of taking out its other eye was gone. It made a grasping motion in the air. She’d seen it doing this to Jais. It was magic of some sort. She expected to feel something, but nothing happened.
The krolloc looked a little confused at her lack of reaction as well. It lifted its hand and looked more confused. Caerwyn shrugged and took that moment to get farther away from it, sprinting up and over a low rise of rocks, heading toward Jais. She landed on the other side and was surprised to find Barami there. He didn’t look well at all.
He groaned at her. His puffy, bruised face looked incapable of speech.
Gods, he looked like he’d been trampled.
Jais rushed toward her, no longer concerned with hiding himself. “Caerwyn, it’s coming!”
She reached down and grabbed Barami’s long-bladed sword. She wasn’t as familiar with this particular weapon, but she knew it well enough to fight with it.
Jais arrived in a rush as the krolloc drew close behind her, its shadow covering them. “If you can keep it away, I might be able to help Barami!” Jais whispered and offered one of his swords. She shook her head at his offer of the blade, she’d do better to put all her strength behind this one larger blade. She didn’t know how he could help Barami, but now wasn’t the time to question it.
She spun and lashed out at the krolloc’s foot, cutting deep into the ankle, unfortunately it wasn’t the already weak ankle, and it didn’t seem to notice. She danced away from its kick at her, hoping to draw it farther from Jais and Barami, but it didn’t take the bait. He reached out toward Jais and picked him up with its magical grasp.
“Stop or I’ll crush him!” it called out. She couldn’t stop, and she knew it. She charged back in and swung at the same leg she’d hit just a moment ago, it tried to avoid the blow, but it was moving slowly, perhaps distracted by its magic. She nicked the bone with her cut, and it did back up a step this time.
She heard Jais’ cry of pain, but could not pay any attention to it. They had one mission, to kill this thing, and she hoped Jais could handle himself and survive this.
She pressed her attack, her body and mind working as one as she felt the calm familiarity of battle envelope her. She deflected its attempts to grasp at her physically with its other hand, the one missing fingers already, while working at weakening its legs.
Then it was swatting at her with its other hand, and she hoped that meant it had given up on Jais as opposed to the other option. She pressed harder, cutting hands or legs, whichever got closer to her. The krolloc was backing up. It bellowed to the other krolls still in the room to help it.
Caerwyn smiled. She knew it would never have done that if it wasn’t weakening.
She had it.
Jais
landed on his feet, barely, as air returned to his lungs with gulping breaths. He didn’t know how much longer he could have withstood the krolloc’s magical grasp and was thankful it had released him when it did.
Caerwyn had the beast retreating and Jais took a moment to lay down his swords and kneel next to Barami. He still didn’t really know how to heal, but he placed his hands on the dying man and simply tried to push energy into him.
Barami gasped, as Jais felt his own pitiful reserves of vitality drain once again. The exchange didn’t take long, and when it ended, Jais felt as weak as a puppy.
“Thank you,” the other man croaked, his voice hoarse. He wasn’t dying, but he still looked rough. Jais himself probably didn’t look that much better.
“Stay here, we can take care of this,” Jais said then retrieved his two swords. He stood, wobbled, then took a moment to balance himself. He was exhausted, like he’d spent the whole day chopping wood. His arms were like water, and the swords in his hands felt far too heavy. But he had to help Caerwyn, and he found enough strength to walk over to where she’ had taken the fight.
Two krolls were closing in behind her. Perhaps he’d target them first.
He let out a war cry, mostly to distract those other krolls, partly to see if it might give him a little more energy. The two of them looked his way, but kept going after Caerwyn.
He grimaced. Did he really look like nothing to worry about?
He found some energy to jog over to them.
He brought his swords in on each side of a leg as he reached one, but the blades practically bounced off the hard flesh. He really was drained.
Point this sword at it.
Jais obeyed his father’s suggestion. A beam of iridescent… something… shot out of the blade and hit the kroll square in the back… then proceeded through it, up and away, hitting the ceiling of the rock chamber.
The kroll fell in a heap.
Soul Seeking Page 24
