by Cebelius
Isthil glanced back at her, but she only quirked a brow. The Nightmare turned away again and continued to her easy trot.
She never offered to let ME ride.
The thought made the dragon proxy grin. She knew the other woman was fascinated with Terrence at the very least. Why else would she still be here? Her sort were not exactly known to be sociable. They were drawn to evil, to feed upon the nightmares that evil wrought.
Those thoughts brought a question to Asturial's mind, and she asked it without reservation, not even out of breath despite the many hours and the grueling pace.
"What are his nightmares like?"
Isthil glanced back again, then slowed her pace just a bit to allow the dragon proxy to draw alongside her, rather than run behind her. The two were not friends, and Asturial had no real interest in becoming friends. She knew the Nightmare was dangerous, and she knew she owed her for what she had done. She also knew that Isthil probably wouldn't have done it had she not had an interest in Terrence. It was his draw on Isthil that had saved Asturial. The Nightmare would never have bothered to meddle on her own.
"Guilty," Isthil said at length, seemingly having considered how to answer in the time she took to draw even. "His nightmares are full of guilt and regret."
"For what?" Asturial asked. "He sure as hell doesn't regret treating me the way he has."
"Well, no. You were evil, at least in his mind," Isthil said, chuckling. "Still not the nicest person, though I get the impression you've improved."
"What then?"
"Terry Mack regrets the lives lost because he came into them. The people who died, just because he was nearby, haunt him. In his nightmares, they blame him and he cannae help but accept that blame. He wants forgiveness and never gets it."
"That's stupid."
Isthil laughed and her argent eyes glimmered as she said, "It's a dream, it doesna have to make sense! Once he's lucid he understands it himself, but when he's not he can't help it."
"And the guilt?" Asturial asked, more to keep the conversation going than because she really didn't know. She already felt she knew what Isthil would say, and a few moments later she said it, though with her own peculiar accent.
"Oh, the guilt comes from believin' it coulda been different. If only he'd been better, stronger ... smarter. At the core of him, he doesna believe that he's worthy. He's torn between the hero he wants to be, and the man he thinks he is."
"Did he dream about me at all?" Asturial asked.
"Yes, but you dinnae want to know what you looked like in those dreams, dragon. I suggest you let that lie, and dinnae ask him either. Remember: a man's not responsible for what he sees in his dreams; they're a distortion of who he is, and what he believes. You cost him a great deal, and while he may have put that behind him while awake, asleep ... that's another matter."
No wonder he avoids me.
It didn't make her happy, but Asturial was practical enough to accept that some things could only be changed with time and careful attention. For now, she did as Isthil suggested, and let it go.
A few moments later Asturial caught sight of a rabbit, and her head whipped around to confirm the sighting. She didn't have the time or inclination to study it, but it had been there, and it wasn't the first one she'd seen since the two of them began their chase. She no longer thought the rabbits were from Baba Yaga. She had what she wanted, why keep watching them? But if the rabbits didn't serve the witch, who were they spying for?
Her thoughts were interrupted a few minutes later when Isthil asked, "Does it bother you at all that Yuri is movin' in a very, very straight line?"
"It does seem he has a destination in mind," Asturial conceded. "I wouldn't think he'd know anywhere to go here in the Wildervast."
"I dinnae think he does. I think he's not got a destination in mind. I think he's got a target."
Asturial thought about that for a moment, then something that the Nightmare had mentioned earlier came to mind and she said, "You think he's caught wind of Vlad the Dreamer?"
"Aye. Vlad said it himself just before he died too. He said, 'I'll see to it personally.' Shamans are powerful spirit shepherds, and the Wildervast is their playground. If Yuri really has caught wind of the man's ghost and is chasin' him down, we'd do well to find Yuri before Yuri finds Vlad, or there may be nothin' left to save."
Frowning, Asturial said, "You're pretty much just matching my pace, right?"
"Aye?" Isthil glanced down at her again. "Woke ye because I needed help. Wouldn't do me any good to leave ye behind now."
Nodding, Asturial focused and without breaking stride cast a simple spell. The words flowed from her with instinctive ease, for it was one of the first spells she had ever mastered, and was what allowed her in her full dragon war body to fly.
Once complete, she leapt adroitly, forking Isthil's saddle effortlessly and leaning forward to wrap her arms around the Nightmare's belly.
Isthil reared in surprise, then glanced back at her new rider in annoyance before she realized that the dragon proxy felt as though she weighed practically nothing. Not actually nothing, since her sword was unaffected by her spell, and was still slung across Asturial's back.
"Oh! Hah. Okay, well then, let's just see if we can make better time, aye?"
Asturial's smile was grim. "Aye."
The landscape began to blur by as Isthil poured on some real speed, and Asturial mentally cursed herself for not having thought of this sooner. She had spent too much time wallowing in self-recrimination. She had known Baba Yaga worked with curses, knew how powerful they could be, but she'd taken no more than the usual precautions. As a consequence, she had almost lost her mind, and she had lost her template.
Again.
Baring her teeth, she looked around Isthil's body. There was no wind, because Isthil was no longer moving in a natural way. The trees gave way to gently rolling grasslands, and in the distance, she thought she caught sight of him.
At the same moment, Isthil reached back and pulled her shield off its catch on her rump as she said, "Get ready. Hit him as hard as ye dare without killin'. I need to get in close."
"I have been reduced to the role of a mere swordswoman," Asturial said in mock despair as she reached back and freed her sword. It was mock despair, because Asturial really did enjoy working with her blade.
Yuri's distant form grew rapidly larger, but before they reached him he paused and turned, roaring as his sword whipped through the air with wicked speed.
Isthil balked, and Asturial leapt from her back, ending her spell with a whispered word as she swung her own much heavier blade in a savage overhand stroke.
Yuri sidestepped, and Asturial landed in a spray of turf as her restored weight, inertia, and heavy talons sent clods of earth flying.
The two looked at each other for a moment, and Asturial acknowledged that he did at least look imposing.
The tiger man — once no more than six one — was now easily nine feet tall and broad in proportion. His body was thick with muscle and his expression had lost all semblance of rational thought. His armor had not grown with him and his clothing had shredded and fallen away. The only thing that had apparently survived his transformation was a leather belt with a ruby-studded silver buckle.
He leaned forward as he roared full in her face, and Asturial squinted, turning her face a bit and wrinkling her nose at Yuri's blood-soaked breath. Apparently, he'd caught some food at some point, and his teeth were stained pink with the proof.
His sword whipped around, and Asturial lifted her own much heavier blade. Sparks flew at the force of the contact, and the fight began in earnest.
In some ways it was almost like her fight in the pit with Terrence Mack. Just as then, she did not want to truly hurt her opponent. Just as then, she used no magic to win the contest, because she knew that if she did it would be too easy to accidentally maim or kill Yuri Kolenko. She not only had to keep him alive, but if at all possible she wanted to avoid crippling him.
&nb
sp; Her opponent was skilled in the sword art, just as Terrence Mack had shown himself to be a truly masterful hand-to-hand combatant. Nevertheless, Asturial drove her steel before her with easy competence. Fighting hand-to-hand had been a hobby of hers, something to wile away the time. Fighting with a sword was a passion, and she had taken the time to truly master her weapon, traveling far to compel training from a variety of skilled practitioners.
She acknowledged that Yuri was good though. Very good. If he were in his right mind, he might even hold a small edge in skill. Asturial had found herself consistently amazed over the years that people who lived such brief lives could nevertheless reach such heights of skill and power. Still, Yuri was lost in his rage, and while his skills were intact, his judicious use of them lacked, and she knew as long as she did not panic she could dominate this fight.
The two wove a web of steel between them as they clashed, and the sounds of their battle rang across the grasslands. Asturial at first thought to let Yuri wear himself out, but realized as one minute passed into three, then five, that his fury drove him, and the strange qualities of the Wildervast might allow that fury to sustain him indefinitely.
So instead, she began to press her advantages. Despite his increased size, she was still almost his equal in mass, his superior in strength, and her sword was both longer, broader, and much heavier.
Battering his weaker blade away she slammed the flat of hers into his shoulder. The force of the blow crushed Yuri to his knees.
His free hand touched the turf and his head whipped up, a feral gleam in his eyes as he leapt into her before she could reset, hitting her with all the force of a battering ram. Her feet left the earth and he roared his anger as his claws scrabbled across her dense scales — barely scratching them — to catch at her belt. Asturial was lifted high and slammed down with enough force to crack the ground underneath her, but she remained calm, and tucked her tail between her legs to keep it safe before she landed.
Yuri had lost his sword and the arm that had held it was limp as he straddled her, but he lifted his other hand and his claws gleamed as he slashed at her face with all his power.
Asturial had not lost her blade, and caught his swipe with the flat of it, then reached past it with her free hand to catch the side of Yuri's head. She hauled him down as she came up, smashing his muzzle with one of her curling horns.
Blood-flecked foam flew from his lips as he howled his agony, but she didn't let up, hitting him again and then twisting her hips, hauling him around and mounting him. She slid her sword across his chest and pinned him as she glanced up and around, looking for Isthil.
The Nightmare was a few feet away, watching with wide eyes.
"Fuck me," she murmured. "I was thinkin' I'd need to help ye, but ... yeah, no. Guess not."
"Whatever you need to do-"
Yuri surged. His upper body left the ground for a moment before Asturial slammed him back down and re-pinned him with the flat of her blade as she continued, "-doing it sometime today would be nice."
Isthil blinked, then seemed to snap out of her daze and trotted over to kneel next to the pinned tiger man. She reached out and caught his head with both hands.
Again Yuri's body bowed upward as he roared, but Isthil's eyes narrowed and the silver radiance in them brightened noticeably before both she and the supine tiger man vanished.
Asturial's sword slammed into the turf and she swore, then looked around, her lips twisting a moment before she caught on. The most effective way to keep Yuri from changing into a Wildling was to take him out of the Wildervast.
"Simple, but effective. Having a Nightmare around is proving to be surprisingly handy," the dragon muttered as she stood and stretched.
She turned around to survey her surroundings, but had just enough time to see the rising spires of a moldering castle in the distance before a ghostly, rotting skull of a face slammed into hers with a piercing, unearthly scream.
The spirit shattered, its assault broken by Asturial's renewed mental defenses, but the force and suddenness of the attack staggered her, and as she stood blinking another ghost attacked her, and then a third.
She began a spell, but jerked as pain bloomed in her left shoulder.
Glancing down, she had just enough time to see the haft of a wooden shaft easily as thick around as her wrist before it slid violently back out of her, or tried to.
Heavy barbs sank into her back and tore her from her feet.
As she rolled and her sword whirled, she caught and cut one of her ethereal assailants in half, but before she could regain her equilibrium she was wrenched back off balance and another ghostly apparition screamed as it slammed through her face.
"I was expecting to have a little fun with the cub, teach him his penultimate lesson: humility. Instead, I've caught a virginal dragon proxy, which suits my purposes just as well. The spirits spoke true when they said I should hunt here today."
Asturial lifted her head and fire ignited in front of her, but just as quickly winked out as Vlad the Dreamer stepped forward, reached for the ball of blue heat with a backward hand, and snuffed it without apparent effort or pain in his clenched fist.
"Tch, tch. I told you I was ready for you, dragon proxy. And here you do not even have Mila to watch you fail. The Nightmare will not return either. The spirits do not speak of them, did you know? She was a rare surprise and twisted my plans, but now she is out of the game. There is no one to save you now. Ah well, you will make a fine, feisty present for my new patron."
She started to swing her sword, but again the spear embedded in her shoulder wrenched away her balance. Blood spattered as she howled with the pain. Meanwhile, Vlad lowered his webbed staff over her. The spider dropped to her belly trailing glittering silk, and bit her.
Vermin of that size should never have been able to penetrate her scales, but this was no ordinary spider, and within seconds its venom proved just as extraordinary as her body shuddered and ceased to obey her.
Even breathing was difficult, but her eyes remained open and she focused past the Rakshasa to see a Blemmyes, one of the headless. It was a pale-skinned and brutish male, with large eyes set in its shoulders and a wide mouth in its belly under a protruding nose. That wide mouth was grinning, and it had its hands wrapped around a thin chain that linked him to the spear protruding from Asturial's shoulder.
"Bring her along, Demen. She will provide no further resistance. We will get her cleaned up and healed, then take her to Koschei. I am sure he will appreciate her sword if nothing else."
The Blemmyes' voice was deep and cruel as his massive mouth twisted his abdomen with a sadistic grin.
"As you wish, Dreamer."
22
Playmate
Terry watched in annoyance as the last sliver of sun dipped behind the horizon. The moon wasn't out either, and the stars were half-obscured by clouds.
The Carnival of the Soul didn't miss a beat. Braziers spaced at intervals between the booths and tents blazed to life in a variety of colors. Some of the flames were orange, yellow or red, but most were more exotic. Green, white, blue, purple, and even brown flame contributed to light the carnival, painting the walls with lurid, shivering shadows.
It was the third 'night' that Terry had endured in the last several hours, and he'd grown well and truly sick of it. Nighttime in the Carnival wasn't just a difference in lighting.
When the sun set and the braziers lit, the people walking around showed the manner in which they died. A few looked just the same, but many became abruptly ancient-looking, and many more lost limbs, heads, or sprouted ghastly wounds.
Thankfully, they still ignored him, by and large.
The barkers also changed, revealing themselves to be well-dressed but skeletal revenants. Flames flickered in otherwise empty eye sockets as they watched him pass, and the fact that their voices still sounded just as bright and cheery as they did during the day made him shudder.
Shu had gone with Peter, and the both of them had faded
out of sight as soon as they passed the rickety fence posts that did duty as the gates of Heaven ... or so Terry thought.
He was thankful, and counted it a blessing, that he had never seen Shu by the light of the braziers. He did wonder what Peter might have looked like though. Somehow, he thought the old saint would have looked just the same.
Now that he wasn't looking at Peter anymore, the certainty that the man was who he'd claimed to be wavered. There had been a power in him though, a presence that was impossible to deny. Rather than doubt what he had seen, heard, and done, he chose instead to put it from his mind and renew his concentration on his current task.
The big top in front of him was a massive affair with — if the tentpoles were any indication — three rings inside. There was no way for him to know for sure. He wasn't about to pay the entry fee to find out, and given the ghostly unreality of the carnival he wasn't about to try sneaking in either.
He had lurked outside three circus performances so far, but had yet to figure out how or where the performers left the tents on their way from one to the next. There was a definite pattern to the performances though, moving in a clockwise fashion around the carnival.
The nagging suspicion that the performers were somehow just magically vanishing from one tent and reappearing in the next left him with a sinking sensation, and put him in a bit of a catch-22. Terry had a soul token. It appeared in his hand whenever he thought about it, and when he dropped it the thing simply vanished, only to reappear again nestled in his palm the next time it came to mind. If he paid the soul token to see the performance, he knew that no matter what happened during his interview with the Harlequin, or Hellequin, whichever, he wouldn't be able to escape the carnival later. But if he didn't somehow get in to see them, how was he going to get into the castle?
