The shadow stayed in front of the doors and made a slight noise. Gwyrtha suppressed a growl and Justan realized that the person outside was sniffing at the crack. What kind of person did that?
Not a person, Gwyrtha sent and she started a chant in her mind as she transformed her body. I am fast. I am hard. I am strong. I am fast. I am hard. I am strong . . .
She ducked behind a wagon as she changed. Justan couldn’t see her form in the darkness anymore, but he knew what the transformation was like. Gwyrtha’s patchwork body and tail were shrinking, her reptilian snout shortening. The scaled patches on her body were becoming harder, like armored plate, and the hairs on her body were lengthening and becoming stiff like wires. Her claws would lengthen, as would her teeth, making this smaller form truly formidable.
The doors creaked slightly as one of the figures outside grasped the handles. Justan had locked the doors as he did every night, but he reached up over his shoulders and gripped the pommels of his swords anyway just in case. He felt the power of his swords overtake him. The magic of his left sword, the one he called Peace, sucked all of his emotion away, leaving his mind in a state of pure calm. His right sword, Rage, stored those leeched emotions and converted them into energy, eager to unleash it as explosive power.
The doors gave a brief shudder as hands outside tried to pull them open, then found that they were locked. Next came a scraping noise as something was inserted into the lock. A lockpick? These did seem like thieves after all. Justan considered crying out and scaring them off, but thought better of it. Better to catch them in the act now then have them cause trouble at a later date.
Not persons, Gwyrtha insisted, then continued her chant. I am Fast. I am hard. I am strong . . .
Are you sure? Justan asked as he heard the lockpick manipulating the tumblers within the lock. They sure are acting like thieves.
They aren’t breathing, she replied.
Justan’s hands tightened on his swords. Not breathing? What could they be? All living creatures had to breathe didn’t they? Are you saying they’re some kind of magical constructs?
Don’t know.
There was a small click as the lock released. Then the doors opened outward, pulled by two figures wearing winter furs. Moonlight poured into the warehouse illuminating the objects nearest the doors.
The invaders certainly looked like regular workmen, one of them with thick blond hair and a downy beard, while the other one had short black hair and a goatee. They cocked their heads in unison and peered into the darkness where Justan and Gwyrtha hid.
Justan pulled his swords from their sheaths and stood, knowing that the moonlight wouldn’t reach far enough into the warehouse to reveal him to them yet.
Get ready to cut off their escape, he sent to Gwyrtha. Then he shouted with a commanding voice, “Stop! What are you doing here this time of night?”
He fully expected the men to react with surprise. Instead, both of them gave him a reassuring smile. If Peace hadn’t been draining his emotions, Justan would have shuddered. There was something wrong with their faces. Their smiles were a bit too wide, their teeth a bit too large.
See their mouths? Gwyrtha said. The rogue horse wasn’t feeling fear, just excitement at the prospect of a fight. No steam.
Justan realized that she was right. With temperatures this cold, everyone’s breath frosted in the air. No frost flowed from their gleaming teeth. They stepped towards him.
“Stop, I told you! Lie down on the ground!” Justan said, readying himself to attack.
The two men said nothing. They raised empty hands, showing him their lack of weapons, and continued towards him. Their overlarge grins stretched even further in an attempt to be reassuring, but Justan wasn’t fooled. Even if Gwyrtha hadn’t warned him, he’d have known something was wrong.
Justan crouched and slid silently to the side in the darkness, hoping to catch the things by surprise. But their heads swiveled to follow him and, as they stepped out of the moonlight, he saw their eyes glow softly. Justan swore inwardly. They had him at a disadvantage. These things could see in the dark. His preparations had turned on him.
Now! he sent to Gwyrtha.
Her dark form leapt from behind a wagon and bore one of them down under her. The thing collapsed under her weight without so much as a gasp of surprise. The second thing didn’t even look back at its companion, but continued towards Justan with its arms raised.
Gwyrtha pinned the strange thing to the ground, her front claws gripping its arms. Her rear claws snapped bones in its legs as her weight crushed them beneath her. Her sensitive eyes saw the creature clearly in the dark and it perturbed her that its expression didn’t change with the pain she had given it. It cocked its head at her and Gwyrtha finally heard a sound coming out of it. A wet noise issued from its abdomen and she felt something sharp strike her in the belly.
Justan felt Gwyrtha’s surprise and pain through the bond and launched himself at the thing in front of him, hoping to end the fight quickly. His mind shifted into the battle state that Deathclaw had taught him and time slowed. The creature didn’t show alarm as Justan approached. He swung his right arm, bringing Peace down between its softly glowing eyes.
Peace cut through the skin of its forehead and struck bone. Time slowed to a crawl as the sword passed a sudden understanding through Justan’s mind. There was no emotion for the sword to steal from this foe. Its thoughts were strange and alien, but one thing became clear. The creature had but one purpose in being here. It had been sent to kill Justan.
Peace cleaved through its skull, but the thing felt no pain. There was no brain or vital organ within its head, just a knot of unformed flesh. The sword split the head in half, its edge wedging into the top of the thing’s spinal column.
Justan was still processing the information he had received when the thing’s arms shot forward. They made a squelching sound as they extended longer than should be possible. Then its hands grasped his shoulders. Only they weren’t hands any longer, but thick talons instead.
Justan jerked back, but Peace was still bound in the creature’s spine. The talons tore through the flesh of his shoulders, scoring bone and sinew. Luckily, Peace sucked the pain away and Justan was able to bring Rage to bear. His eager sword swung under its arms and pierced the thing’s belly. Justan felt a brief jolt of fear from it just as he released the sword’s energy in a concussive blast.
The explosion made no light, but there was a heavy thud as the creature’s body was hurled from Justan, separating into two pieces before colliding with crates and barrels of supplies. Its claws ripped free and Justan stumbled backwards, striking his hip on a handcart in the darkness.
Justan! Gwyrtha called out in anger and pain. Hurry!
Justan saw her form struggling with another in the blackness and darted for the side wall. The bond told him that she was hurt. Something had pierced the armored plates in her belly and more things were digging into her sides.
He couldn’t help if he couldn’t see. He stumbled over a piece of wood and was unable to raise his arms in time to brace himself before slamming his wounded shoulders into the wall.
He knew he was bleeding profusely. Blood ran over the backs of his hands as he struggled to raise his arms high enough to press the rune on the wall that would light the warehouse. If he hadn’t still been holding Peace in his hand, he wouldn’t have been able to do it, but the sword leeched away his pain.
He fumbled at the wall for a few long moments before his forearm struck the iron plate the rune was on. He was forced to drop Rage to the ground so that he could press his hand to the rune. A row of light orbs hanging from the ceiling of the warehouse glowed to life, bathing the area with white light.
Justan turned towards Gwyrtha’s struggle. She had the thing’s head in her mouth and its arms and legs pinned, but several long appendages like spider’s legs had grown from its torso and dug at her body. He bent and grasped Rage’s pommel just as Gwyrtha reared back, wrenching the creature’s
head free from its neck.
She spat its head to the side and leapt back from the thing, but it refused to let go and she ended up dragging its body with her. Gwyrtha clawed at its appendages, knocking several of them away, but the one piercing her belly was stubborn. She gripped it and pulled at it, but it wouldn’t let go.
It won’t die! she exclaimed as the thing stood and pulled back, its legs having healed and its feet splitting into gripping claws.
“I’m coming!” Justan lurched towards her, hoping his arms had the strength to swing Rage at the thing. The sword’s stored energy had been depleted by the force of the blast, but Justan’s pain was rapidly filling it.
Gwyrtha spun and whipped her tail around, striking the thing in its side. The scales of her tail had formed spikes that raked the thing’s body as she knocked it back to the ground. The appendage finally tore free from her belly and she backed away from it, growling as blood poured from the wound.
Justan reached her side as the creature came quickly back to its feet. Several more clawed arms grew from the creature’s body and a new head began to form from the torn stump where the other head had been. This new head had large hawkish eyes and a wicked beak.
You are hurt! Gwyrtha said.
So are you, Justan replied.
Is your one dead? she asked.
“I hope so,” Justan said aloud. His eyes darted to the place where the pieces of the creature had struck and saw no movement.
The thing standing before them reached out with an appendage and speared the ruined mess of a head that Gwyrtha had torn from it. The flesh of the old head turned black and long spikes grew from it.
It doesn’t smell like one of the wizard’s monsters, Gwyrtha said, her eyes focused on the monster as it continued to change.
No. I don’t know what it is, but this is something different, Justan said. We’ll have to tear it to pieces like the other one, but I won’t be much use with my arms like this.
I’ll do it, she promised, her growl increasing.
Okay, here’s the plan, Justan said. You attack it. I’ll go through the bond and focus on healing you. The ability to heal his bonded was one of the few useful things his elemental magic gave him.
Good, she said, preparing to leap. The creature was even more of a nightmare now, its various limbs grasping, an amalgam of teeth and claws.
Suddenly there was a soft whistle as something darted in from outside the open doors, striking the creature’s side. The thing spasmed as arcs of electricity flashed across its limbs. It collapsed to the ground, jittering.
A short elf bounded into the warehouse, another arrow notched on his gray bow. He was old and weathered, his skin dark, his hair short and stubbly, and he wore nothing but a leather loincloth and a quiver slung over his back.
“Yntri Yni?” Justan exclaimed, glad to see the elf.
The ancient elf scowled at him and let out a series of reprimands in his odd language of clicks and whistles, all the while gesturing at the convulsing monster.
They watched in stunned silence as Yntri bent over the creature and placed his head on its chest. Then he stood back and unstrung his Jharro bow in one smooth motion. The wood of the bow straightened, one end forming a spear-like tip. With a grunt of satisfaction, Yntri Yni stabbed his weapon into the creature’s thigh.
A brief squeal exited the thing’s bird-like mouth as it slowly turned to stone.
Chapter Three
“Basilisks,” Hilt said with a sour expression, staring down at the petrified corpses of the two creatures.
They had been laid out on a sheet of canvas on the warehouse floor. The creatures had turned to stone at the moments of their deaths, frozen in mid-transformation, their features distorted, their limbs twisted. In Justan’s mind, they looked like hideous statues created by a madman.
“Blast it, I think you’re right,” Faldon the Fierce said. His tall form was hunched over the remains and a frown creased his face. Justan couldn’t remember seeing his father look so worried. “I haven’t seen one of these things in twenty years. And now? Here at the academy? Why?”
“They were after me,” Justan said. “I kno-!” then sucked in air as the wizard behind him put a hand on his shoulder. The slightest touch was painful even through the bandages Yntri had placed on him. Justan had barely been able to put his shirt on.
“I said, hold still, Sir Edge,” said the wizard grumpily. He was one of those sent by the mage school to help with the construction and didn’t seem very happy about being awakened in the middle of the night for a healing.
A shiver went through Justan as the familiar tingle of elemental energies flooded his shoulders. The basilisk’s claws had been razor sharp and the wounds deep. Muscles and ligaments had been torn. He was fortunate that the injuries hadn’t been more severe. One severed artery and a healer may not have been located in time.
“Surely you are mistaken,” Jhonate said. Justan could feel her anger through the ring. Not that he needed it to know how she was feeling. She hadn’t stopped glaring at him since the moment she had seen his wounds. “Basilisks are assassins for the wealthy and powerful. They are extremely rare and difficult to hire. What enemies do you have that fit that description?”
“I d-don’t know,” Justan said through gritted teeth. The wizard was powerful, but Justan could tell by how much energy he was wasting that he was not a healing specialist. “But I was their target. I saw into its mind when I struck it with my sword.”
Jhonate raised an eyebrow at him. “I did not know you could do that.”
Hilt shook his head. “Unfortunately, he has to be right, Jhonate. Basilisks are very deliberate. They don’t attack anyone but their given target.” He turned his gaze to Justan. “You made someone mad.”
“But how?” Justan asked. “Ewzad Vriil is dead. Who else would want me-. Gah!”
With a final burst of power, the wizard finished his ministrations and stepped back. “Done.”
Justan shuddered. The man hadn’t even bothered easing his tingling nerves before withdrawing. He rotated his shoulders as the magic dissipated. He’d never been through such a messy healing. “Uh, thanks?”
“I’ll be getting back to bed then,” the wizard said, shifting sideways as his eyes lingered on the basilisks’ remains. He practically ran out the door.
“That was strange,” Justan said, watching the man leave. He began removing the bandages.
“Which is why we can’t let word get out about this,” Faldon said. “The whole camp could be paralyzed by fear.” He gestured to two academy guards that stood nearby. Two more were posted just outside the doors of the warehouse in case any of the workers happened by. “Wrap these things up and get them on a wagon. We need to take them to the council building and we need to do it discretely.”
“Yes sir!” said the men. They began wrapping the canvas around the statues.
“Could that be it?” Justan wondered as he rotated his arms, hoping to stretch out his shoulders. “Was this attack just about fear?” A painful pop in the joint caused him to wince.
“Did his healing leave you stiff?” Jhonate asked. Justan nodded and she walked behind him. Her anger hadn’t dissipated, but Justan forgot all about that when she began kneading his shoulders. Justan sighed in relief.
“What did you mean by that, son?” Faldon said. “Why would someone go through the trouble of sending basilisks just to scare you?”
“No, not to scare me,” Justan said. He closed his eyes and focused on Jhonate’s strong fingers. “Could someone have targeted me to scare the workers and slow the rebuild?”
“That could be it,” Faldon said, looking a bit relieved. “Things have been going more smoothly than we hoped. But if my son, the famous Sir Edge, were assassinated . . .”
“I don’t know,” Hilt said with a shake of his head. “Basilisks are an expensive hire for that kind of subtle work. It would be far more destructive to the academy’s efforts if they killed one of the high council. Or
more specifically, you, Faldon.”
Faldon grimaced. “I suppose you’re right. Still, it would have to be something along those lines.”
“What if this is about the Roo-Tan?” Justan asked. Jhonate’s fingers began to work harder, displeasure leaching through their connection. Nevertheless, Justan plowed forward, “Maybe someone thinks that a relationship between the Roo-Tan and the academy is a bad thing. They could believe that if I were dead and my betrothal with Jhonate void, contact with the academy would end.”
The two men looked at each other and Faldon said, “Now that, my son, is a very real possibility.”
“It seems that the council will have a lot to discuss this morning,” Hilt said.
“And that will be in just a couple hours from now.” Faldon sighed as he watched the guards finish loading the basilisks’ remains. “I should head back with them and get ready, then. Let me know if you think of anything else. Should I leave a few men here just in case something else shows up?”
“I doubt that will be necessary,” Hilt said. “Yntri said that he only sensed the arrival of these two. Besides, sending more than two basilisks after the same target is pretty rare.”
“Sending any basilisks is rare,” Faldon pointed out.
“Gwyrtha is still backtracking their trail with him,” Justan added. She had left with the elf on her back as soon as Faldon had arrived with Hilt and the wizard. She was currently out in the hills outside the camp. “She and Yntri Yni found a place where those basilisks slept the day before. They haven’t found a sign of anyone else with the basilisks yet, but they are still looking.”
“Alright,” Faldon said. “I’ll see you after the council meeting. You can update me then if they find anything else.”
Justan waived goodbye at him and as the soldiers pulled the wagon out of the warehouse, he closed his eyes again. All thoughts of the attack fled and he just enjoyed Jhonate’s massage. Her fingers had worked out the tension left behind by the wizard’s rushed healing job and now it just felt good.
Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) Page 4
