by RG Long
Wisym grabbed onto Gorplin even harder as she felt the beast jerk underneath her. She quickly loosed an arrow in the direction of the new birds, not expecting to hit a single target.
To her great surprise, one actually exploded as her arrow founds its mark.
The dragon let out another roar of fire that brought down two or three more of the beasts. Wisym couldn’t see through the haze of smoke and metallic debris how many it actually was. But she could feel the weight of the airship bearing down on them. Being underneath one, she could feel the magic of it pressing against them. It was a crushing weight that she was sure would push them into the waters below.
Then there was a sharp piercing blast of white magic, followed by the sensation of falling. And that was the last thing Wisym remembered.
16: Water
“Wake up lass,” Gorplin said as he shook the elf as hard as he dared.
He didn’t know if she had sustained injuries in the fall. He wasn’t completely sure if he had or not. But since he was doing his best to hold both the elf and himself on this piece of driftwood floating out at sea, he wasn’t extremely bothered by his own aches and pains.
Either Wisym would wake up and hold onto the remnants of the air ship, or both he and her would drown.
“Wisym!? Gorplin shouted, trying to wake her with his yelling.
For his efforts, he got a mouthful of cold salt water. He spluttered and spat as another wave pushed them and the debris up and then sank them back down. He wasn’t sure how long they had been floating. All he knew was that he was the first one to wake up and that Wisym was the only one of their party he was close to.
The sea was littered with the debris of the airship as well as some small remnants of the metal birds. Mostly the leather parts that resembled the wings of bats in caves Gorplin had explored.
And, though he tried not to think about it, the remains of the crew who had piloted the airship. Just looking around, Gorplin could tell they had not survived the blast or the fall.
It was a miracle that the two of them had. And even though it was a grizzly sight, he was thankful for not being consumed by the hungry residents of the sea. At the moment, they had easier prey.
He kicked hard against the cold water that surrounded him, trying to get a better grip on the one piece of wood that could hold them both. It was no small task. He really needed the elf to wake up.
Then she did.
“What!? What happened?” Wisym shouted as she woke and began to flail her arms.
“Easy!” the dwarf shouted. “You’ll sink what’s left of this and then we’ll both go under!”
“What happened!? Where are we?” Wisym shouted again as she looked around wildly. Gorplin knew what she was looking for: any sign of their companions.
“It’s just us lass," Gorplin said sadly. It’s just us.
The finality of the statement hit the dwarf in a painful way. As much as he hated to admit it, the assassin, the captain, and Holve Bravestead were dear companions to him. If this had been the fight that claimed their lives, he would mourn their deaths for the rest of his days.
The clap of thunder above him brought his attention to the sky. A storm was rolling in. It made him realize the end of his days might not be as far away as he would hope.
“Who was flying the airship?” Wisym asked.
That was a question the dwarf for not been able to ponder yet. He’d been so intent on keeping himself and the elf floating that he hadn’t had time to make up his mind about it.
“I don’t see any gold or black on those uniforms,” he said. “Not any other color either. It’s strange. The birds are supposed to be from the Court of Three, but they don’t fly ships. Rerial is supposed to have airships, but they don’t use birds.”
“Who would do this?” Wisym asked.
The dwarf had no answer. Instead he kicked his feet in the cold waters and try to get a better grip on the piece of ship they were holding onto. He felt with one hand to see if he still had his axe in his sheath. He let out a sigh of relief feeling that it still was attached to him. In the been the first time he could check. He had lost the chest Edgar had told him to grab. It was at the bottom of the sea now, along with its mysteries.
“Whoever it was, they were no friend of dragons,” Gorplin said. “And no friend of ours either.”
Wisym nodded her head as she moved some of her short hair away from her face.
“How far away do you think we are from the island?” she asked.
“As the dragon flies,” Gorplin said looking over his shoulder. “I imagine we would have made it at the end of the day. But as the dwarf swims...”
He let his sentence trail off. He didn’t know how long they could maintain their hold on the driftwood and avoid being eaten. Maybe they would reach the island if they had an unlimited supply of food and rest.
“In the wreckage and waves,” they would have neither.
Gorplin kicked out hard in order to stay afloat but found that instead of water, his feet touched something very solid.
“Bah! What the devil?” he asked as something slippery and full of scales slid past him.
“I felt it too,” Wisym said, reaching back over her shoulder. If she was looking for her swords, Gorplin knew she was going to be disappointed. He had seen earlier that both of them had fallen down into the sea.
“I wonder what creatures lurk in these waters?” Gorplin asked as he looked around.
In answer, the jaws of some huge beast rose up out of the water and pulled down the lifeless body of one of the airship crew.
“We’ve got to try to swim,” Wisym yelled. “We can’t just stay here. We’ll be fish food.”
“Make for the island then,” Gorplin answered. He gritted his teeth and started to kick his feet as hard as he could.
There was a part of him that mourned the loss of his friends. Gorplin wished they could at least search to see if they could find their bodies amongst the wreckage. But they would be eaten or starve or find themselves too exhausted to hold on anymore unless they made it to the island. There was only one way they were going to get to the island. And it was sheer determination.
But he was a dwarf. And if there was one thing they were known for; it was for being stubborn.
17: No Escape from the Suns
The suns beat down on her face as Silverwolf jerked awake. She wasn’t sure if it was a sensation of water drowning her that had for sure knocked out of her sleep or the sand that was invading her nose. All that she knew was that she was sputtering and coughing and sprawled out along a sandy beach.
She had to crawl.
The water had soaked most of her body. There is only a small part of her head that felt dry. Her face felt burned and bruised. She crawled until she did not feel the damp sand underneath her anymore. Then she lay still and focused on breathing.
As soon as she started to feel her body and regain her senses, the first thing she knew was a chill. It was windy and even though the suns were out and shining it did nothing to warm her soaked skin. She blinked several times to adjust her eyes to the brightness. The last thing she had known as they were flying through the air were clouds gathering around them. There were no signs of clouds in the sky now and the sun spoke of morning, not afternoon.
How much time had passed since the airship had exploded and they had been thrown from the dragon?
And more importantly, where were her swords? She reached frantically behind her back and around her sides and found that all of her blades had fallen away. That did not bode well. She didn’t want to be somewhere alone and exposed without a weapon.
But then she remembered her hand. Checking her forearm, she breathed a sigh of relief as she at least found a dagger strapped to her there. She rolled over, sat up and tried to get her bearings.
From the best that she could tell, she had arrived at the island they were trying to get to on the back of the dragon. The plants and trees were different from the rugged ones they had just
left behind in the dragon’s nest.
These were trees Silverwolf had never seen before. Carefully, she stood and started to stalk towards them feeling, much better about being under the cover of the forest then being exposed along the beach. As she walked, she saw that there were several pieces of airship and even small crates and barrels floating up to the shore along with her. From what she could tell, she was alone. No Holve, captain or elf, no annoying dwarf and no fire breathing dragon.
It was just her.
The thought overwhelmed her for just a moment before she caught her breath and stood by the cover of the tree. It had been several years since she had been truly alone. Sure, she had gone out on some short expeditions, but this group had always been close by. Or close enough.
She had been traveling with this group for so long that she had almost forgotten what it was like to be robbed of companions.
Now she had no food, no supplies, and no one to confer with. Just her and her dagger on an island.
“What have you gotten yourself into, Silverwolf?” she said out loud. Her voice felt strained and cracked. She needed water. There was only one place to get it that would be drinkable and that was in towards the forest of trees. She didn’t know what might be laying inside there waiting for her, but she also didn’t know how long it had been since she had last had anything to drink.
The barrels and crates washing up on shore might provide food or liquid for her.
Having survived on her own for so long, she knew how important water was. Should she stay inside the trees or go scavenging on the beach?
“Crates or trees,” she said out loud. “Barrels or rocks. Should I stay in the shade or go out in the suns? Hmm.”
She took a step and then stopped as her feet hit the sandy beach.
“Just listen to yourself.”
Silverwolf shook her head.
“What assassin in their right mind talks to themselves?” she asked no one.
“A rather poor one,” came the unexpected reply.
Silverwolf jerked around, drawing her knife and sticking it out in front of her. A lot of good it would do. At least ten arrows were notched and pointed right at her heart.
She must be out of practice.
“Great,” she said. “More cats.”
18: Healed
The tower chamber that he was strapped into echoed so loudly and forcefully that it was hard to tell when the echoes of his past screams had finished and when in the new screams had begun.
All he knew was paid.
Over and over again, a terrible pain wracked his body. He had long ago shut his eyes against what was happening to his body. It was unimaginable torture and he could not bear to watch it anymore. Though try as he might, the harder he closed his eyes, the more the pain overwhelmed him.
He felt his skin burning as if it was on fire. The pulling sensation of someone going after him with a knife. The horrible sound of muscles ripping and flesh being separated from bone.
And then the chanting. There was always chanting.
It was a cruel form of torture. While the person who they had only ever called the Questioner went at Galp’s skin and muscles with his unyielding knife, the healers of the Court of Three repaired him.
As he felt his skin being torn away, the healers replaced it. It wasn’t a soothing sensation as the ripped flesh returned to its rightful place. It was just as painful as the original wound. Yet now Galp’s wounds were no longer bleeding. He wouldn’t perish from losing his vital organs or fluid. He was whole.
And now it was fresh for taking again.
In this way, Galp spent untold hours inside the Court’s torturous tower. He could no longer remember day or night, eating or drinking, or even the names of his friends.
All he knew was pain.
And the question.
“What are the Skrilx planning!?”
It came over and over again. It came whenever his screams lessened to a painful moan or when he broke into uncontrollable sobs. It came over and over again.
“What are the Skrilx planning!?”
He didn’t know. He wished he knew. He would tell the world whatever the plans of the feline race might be. He would tell them and betray his closet companions to their deaths to stop this unbearable pain. Just to stop the ripping and tearing and the brutal healing that readied him for more.
But he didn’t know.
“I don’t know!” he yelled over and over again. “I swear on the Suns I don’t know!”
It didn’t matter. The pain came again. The flesh tore again. He gagged as he smelled his own blood and felt the pull of his muscles separating from his bone, even as the healers put it back.
He didn’t know.
“Tell us!” the yell came again. “Reveal the secrets! What are the Skrilx planning?”
Whatever it was, whatever it might be, Galp didn’t know. He had been separated from his family from such a young age that he didn’t know anything about the people he had come from. Only what he read in books and knew from study.
But what the Skrilx of Redact had planned or were planning or had intended to do, he didn’t know.
The echoes of the screams reverberated throughout the halls of the tower and in his own mind.
Galp wished he knew. Because he would do anything to stop this unbearable pain.
19: One More
Blume couldn’t decide which book to read first. She had asked Urt to hold every book she had thought might be useful. Unfortunately, at this point Urt was holding almost enough books to hide his feline face. That might have been an advantage at any other time in their journey through Redact, but at the moment, Blume needed Urt to focus and to see.
She didn’t know how long they would have in the section of Skrilx Wars. The library apparently had to close for the night and Blume and Teresa had forced the ancient librarians to stay much longer than the rest of the students. Even now, the librarians who sat huddled in the desk downstairs were looking up at them with curious expressions.
“We were told we could read any book we wanted and borrow them as needed,” Teresa said defiantly when they had come to tell them the library would close soon, adding another book to the pile underneath her arm. “If we really wanted to understand the history of Rerial and why they hate the Skrilx so much, we need to do our research.”
Blume had never taken Teresa for a scholarly woman. She had always thought the princess would be much more likely to draw her sword than to consult a tome for information. But she had shooed away the librarians and continued to search the shelves with Blume for another hour.
Perhaps Blume had misjudged her.
Teresa was stock piling just as many books as she was and looking hungry for more.
“My people had no fault in this,” Urt said as he accepted another book from Blume’s hand. Blume turned around to look at him. She could just barely make out his face from behind the stack she had just handed him, a text on the battle strategies employed by Rerial during the last days of the war.
“I believe you,” Blume said. “I just want to know what happened and why. They had said that the Skrilx were made slaves and that it was considered a concession.”
Blume shivered.
“I can’t imagine what Rerial must have done to your people. That’s why I want to study. That’s why I want to know what happened and why the people of Rerial dislike the Skrilx so violently.”
“They hate us,” Urt said plainly. “I’ve felt it.”
Blume nodded her head. She couldn’t help but agree. The people of Rerial had stared at Urt at best, and at worst tried to cause him physical harm and accused him of being a spy.
There certainly was a lot to learn here.
“It certainly seems that way doesn’t it?” Teresa asked as she squeezed around them. “I think we’re nearing the end of Rerial’s Wars. Next is Runes and their History.”
“What?” Blume asked as she turned her attention from Urt to Teresa. “Runes?”
/> The books certainly had taken a different look about them. While the books on wars all seemed new and fresh, these were quite tattered and worn looking.
Blume began to search through the stacks of books in the next section with a passion. She knew magic and speakers but runes were something she didn’t yet grasp. Gorplin was a master at dwarven runes but there were more than just his markings. There were elvish runes, goblin tunes, and those locked away in ancient memory. Some of them were in the book they had procured from Ladis. Others were in Jurgon’s book.
And some were right in front of her. Blume reached out and touched a book entitled “The Most Ancient of Runes and Magical Markings and their supposed origins” that was right at her eye level.
She felt a surge of wonder and excitement. Could this book be the key to unlocking the mysteries of Jurgon’s other book?
“Excuse me,” said a voice from behind them.
Blume jumped and noticed that Teresa had given a little start as well. It seemed like the entire group of librarians that had been sitting down at the desk had now sprinted up the stairs to meet their group. For as frail and old as they looked, they had moved remarkably fast.
Only one had come to ask them to prepare to leave an hour ago. Now they had all assembled. One of them looked, not at Blume, but at her hand that was reaching for the book on the shelf.
Teresa spoke first.
“We know you’re closing up, she said. We’ll be on our way soon.”
The librarians look at her solemnly. The one in front, a man with wispy white hair and glasses that made his eyes look three times their normal size spoke up.
“And please be on your way with only the books you currently have in your possession.”
Blume had jerked back her hand when the librarians had startled them. She had left the book on the shelf. Were they implicitly telling her not to take any from this new section? Specifically, that book? Or, were they trying to tell her that they were needing to close up soon?
