The Legend of the Lightscale: Book Two of The Scale Seekers

by A. R. Cook

  “Well, if I’m going to be treated so rudely,” Gothart said, “Then I won’t give you the help I was willing to offer.”

  Desert Rain rolled her eyes. Clova, however, continued her attempts to be cordial. “Mister Grandwitt, did Dezzy say something about you were able to steal that demon’s memories?”

  Gothart beamed. “Something not many can claim to do.”

  “I don’t suppose you could do that again, with this…Katawa, I believe he’s called? You know, make him forget what he’s doing so we could stop him?”

  Gothart sighed, putting his hands behind his head. “I doubt he’d let me come within twenty yards of him ever again without detaching my head from my shoulders. Besides, stealing the same person’s memories twice would be ridiculously redundant. I really wouldn’t want to waste my time on something I’ve already done before. This is so much more interesting, wouldn’t you say?”

  Clova’s forehead wrinkled. “Interesting?”

  Gothart’s eyes brightened with excitement. “Why, yes! I mean, Luuva Gros was so dull before all this. Okay, yes, there are the occasional scraps between the Knights of Luuva and the Wretched, but we all know how those turn out. Frankly, the monotony was getting to me. And then, here comes along an opportunity to stir things up. My reputation’s must be more wide-spread than I thought, for the Darkscale hire me, me of all people, to dispose of the Distortionist! He’s so feared that even his own clan wants to eliminate him. I knew right away that this was someone who could liven things up a bit. This was an excellent challenge, something I haven’t had in a long time.”

  Desert Rain turned to stare at him. Her voice was a harsh, thin whisper. “You think this is some kind of game?”

  Gothart smiled with a shrug. “I could never be quite sure how it would play out, but not knowing is half the fun, isn’t it?”

  Desert Rain stormed over to him. “And now Katawa is raising chaos because you think it’s funny?!”

  A wry grin peeked out from the corner of Gothart’s lips. “You see this as disruptive, but it’s less stressful to see it as entertaining.”

  Desert Rain dealt a slap across Gothart’s nose. The Trickster blinked as her in surprise, and then smirked. “Now that was funny,” he laughed.

  Desert Rain heaved a growl of exasperation. Clova took her by the shoulders and pulled her away gently, whispering delicate words of calming. The Forest Hijn turned back to Gothart. “It seems to me that since you had a hand in this catastrophe, it’s fair that you should help us to right your wrong.”

  “Let me take a swing at him,” Chiriku offered, cracking her knuckles. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t find it funny.”

  Mac plucked a small feather from the top of Chiriku’s head. She instantly dropped her fists and spat a furious caw at the lizard. He chuckled, and turned to Gothart. “Ladies-ssck…never as dainty as you would think-kk, right?”

  Gothart wrinkled his nose at Mac, scanning him with a critical eye. Mac did not let this sort of scrutiny faze him. He was used to it; the Lejenous class got it all the time outside the Bayou. “So, Mister…what-ever-your-name-is-ssck, I reckon that you let the cat-tkk—or should I say, the goat-tkk—out of the bag for a reason, other than to grace-ssck us all with your presence, and enlighten us-ssck to what a morbid individual you are.”

  Gothart gave the lizard a smug grin. “I was thinking of bestowing a peace offering on Dezzy—I like that, ‘Dezzy’—but I have the feeling she’s not in the mood to accept it.”

  “I don’t want anything from you,” Desert Rain said.

  Gothart folded his ears down and stuck out his lower lip in a sad puppy-face expression. “Would it help to say I’m sorry?” he asked in a pitiful tone.

  Everyone glowered at him.

  “You’re right. I don’t really mean that anyway,” he admitted. “Well, I’m losing beauty sleep as we speak, and so are all of you, who desperately need it more than I do. It’s been a lovely chat. Let’s do it again sometime when you’re not quite so hostile.” With that, Gothart Grandwitt poofed into a cloud of white smoke and glittering gold flecks, which hung in the air for a moment before being sucked into the black pouch like an inhaled breath. The random items Gothart had pulled from the pouch had also, inexplicably, vanished. Desert Rain tugged at the drawstring on the pouch, but the bag refused to open.

  “Blast you, Gothart!” she screamed at the bag.

  Chiriku came over and snatched the pouch from Desert Rain’s hand. She tossed it into the campfire without a pause of consideration. Desert Rain made a slight gasp and quickly retrieved the pouch from the fire, searing her fingertips in the process. Oddly enough—or maybe not so oddly, being Gothart’s bag—the pouch had not burned at all, although the tip of the drawstring flickered with a tiny flame. Desert Rain pinched the flame out between her already hot fingertips. “What in Luuva did you do that for?” she snapped at Chiriku.

  “That obnoxious goat deserves to get his butt fried!” the Quetzalin retorted. “Why don’t you ditch that stupid bag?”

  Desert Rain was quiet for a minute. She tucked the pouch into her pocket. “I may not like him, but we might need him. He was able to subdue Katawa, after all.”

  Chiriku put her hammer back in its sheath, and she threw her hands up in the air. “This is why your life is such a wreck, you know that? You’re too nice to everybody. You make excuses to justify letting idiots walk all over you. I don’t get how people like you survive in this world.”

  “We all can’t-tkk be eye-peckers like you, Chi,” Mac noted. He settled down in a patch of grass by the fire, hands folded under his head. His scaled tail flicked back and forth. “Now if you all don’t-tkk mind, I’m ready to settle down for the night-tkk. I’m exhausted.”

  “You’re right,” Clova agreed. “We can continue to talk about these matters tomorrow.”

  Chiriku snorted softly, a weary grimace on her beak. She didn’t argue, as she staked out a place a little way off from the group and curled up for a deep sleep.

  “Should someone stay awake to keep watch?” Desert Rain suggested. Not having wandered far from the desert for quite some time, she had no idea how safe a place the rainforest was. Images of wolves and wild cats and rogue Wretched prowled in her mind.

  “Gust will return soon and keep an eye on things,” Clova said. “Rocs can go for days without sleep and still keep up plenty of energy. I’ll stay awake until he gets back.”

  Desert Rain gave Clova a tired smile. A yawn rolled out of her, every physical and mental thing about her being worn out. She lied back on the grass, pulling her blanket up to her shoulders, and sighed as sleep began its ritual of clouding her mind with the liquor of bliss.

  Yet even in that intoxicating fall into slumber, there was a pinprick of anxiety in her heart, as if some far-off voice was shrieking to her just out of ear’s reach, yet the terror carried like a white-hot arrow over the vast distance.

  ***

  Something about this storm doesn’t feel right, thought Dormilir. Not right at all.

  Storms birthed from the Malaise Cloud that hung over the Inbetween found their way to the Tower of Thordayne sometimes. As Dormilir Drakewing sniffed the air at his shop window, he sighed, noting that the rain didn’t have the acidic smell of Malaise Cloud residue. Yet this storm bore the same ill-will as any of the more poisonous downpours that brought the touch of decay.

  That was the problem of situating a guard tower so close to the Inbetween – aside from those Wretched they were ordered to keep at bay. Thordayne’s Knights of Luuva were vital to guarding this stretch of land, otherwise the Bloodburn and Darkscale clans could beat a direct war-path to Syphurius, the center of trade among all the Noble Races. That would be like planting a dagger straight into the heart of the Noble Cities.

  Dormilir shook his scraggly black hair, rubbing his forehead near his right horn. Curiosity was rarely a bedfellow of his, yet the murmurs circulating through Thordayne in the past few days had put him on edge. All he could gathe
r – from what some of the younger knights had gossiped within earshot – was that the tower had received a dispatch a few days ago by hawk. Everyone had been ordered to be on high alert, particularly from anything coming from the south, where Syphurius lay. That was unusual, since most of the threats to the tower were from the north, three or four leagues from the border of the Inbetween.

  It was even more unusual for a knight to go into hysterics. The day before, when he took a break from smithing, Dormilir had ducked into the mess hall for a quick drink. He spotted two knights, a tawny Falcolin fledgling that must have recently been promoted from squire, and the other a more seasoned human warrior, sitting nearby. The older knight was quietly consoling the other, who appeared so shaken, he might as well have seen a Bloodburn quake-raiser face to face. They kept their voices low, but Dormilir heard the Falcolin say, “But how? The Swordmaster? If he’s really…what chance do we have if even he fell to that Wretched?”

  Those words, Dormilir could scarcely believe. Swordmaster Skyhan was known to defeat whole armies of Bloodburn single-handedly, and yet one Wretched had taken him down? The Falcolin boy must have misunderstood the facts, or maybe the dispatch had been misleading. He had scratched his mass of ebony beard in thought, and simply returned to his duties.

  The thing was, it wasn’t Dormilir’s concern, since he was merely the tower’s blacksmith. Also, being a Stonebreaker dwarf made him reclusive by nature, and he spoke little to the humans and Falcolin stationed there outside of dealing with their armor and weapon needs. Stonebreakers nearly never left the mountain city of Vaes Galahar, but Dormilir had been recruited years ago by the Knights of Luuva for his exceptional smithing skills, and they paid more than well. One had to go where the jobs, and money, took them.

  What was his primary concern, at that moment, was the sudden appearance of a stranger standing at the door of his shop.

  Dormilir froze in mid-walk when he noticed the shadow standing in the doorway. Normally, anyone living at Thordayne would just let themselves in, not hover at the door, and the Stonebreaker could sense this was someone with which he wasn’t familiar. It must be some wandering traveler that the gate patrol allowed in; it was common in Thordayne for lost travelers to be let in for a night’s stay, and they were normally gone by morning. Although one had to be careful about people traveling this close to the Inbetween – they could either be lost, or dangerous.

  “Sorry, I’m closing up shop for the night,” Dormilir said gruffly.

  Even though the man was masked by the night’s shadows, the dwarf could see a crooked grin on his face. “That’s all right,” the stranger said with a silky, too-inviting tone. “This won’t take long.”

  Dormilir cocked an eyebrow, and pinched his lips together as the man entered his shop. The dwarf’s breath stuck in his throat as six more figures trailed in, and Dormilir didn’t need introductions to know who those six were. He could instantly make out the bulky earthen form of Rukna the Mountain Hijn, a dragon-blessed who he had met before, and judging from the clothing and unique features of the others, the rest were all Hijn as well. Half of the Hijn council was standing in his shop, which made Dormilir wonder what in Luuva this stranger was doing speaking on their behalf.

  “It’s an honor,” Dormilir said, bowing his head towards the six Hijn.

  “I’m sure it is,” the stranger said curtly. He was an odd-looking fellow, with skin tinted a light amethyst and steel-blue hair slicked and tied back in a pony tail. His ears were long and tapered at the ends to points, but unlike elven ears that pointed upwards, his arced down towards his shoulders. His outfit was as equally unusual, burgundy and violet but of a style and cut unlike anything Dormilir had seen. It looked misshapen, like a deranged seamstress had been possessed by abstract visions. But it was easy to overlook all of that, once Dormilir locked eyes with the man – by Earthbelly’s jaws! Those eyes were yellow topazes, glistening with an alluring wile.

  “What would you have of me?” the Stonebreaker asked, his eyes darting between the stranger and the six Hijn. Uneasiness seeped into his bones, as the Hijn made no greeting, no words at all. They barely even moved. They looked transfixed, but not by horror or awe. Perhaps it was the shadows being cast by his hanging lanterns, but the Hijn appeared to have some strange dark stains around their eye sockets and mouths.

  “My servant informed me of this place,” the stranger replied, gesturing flippantly towards Rukna. He slowly paced around the shop, eying the various products of Dormilir’s work. “I came to see if you have some parts to spare.”

  Did he just call the Mountain Hijn his servant? What lunacy is this? The dwarf held his ground as the stranger advanced closer to him, although for the first time since he could remember, a voice inside of Dormilir screamed for escape. “This is all for the Knights of Luuva,” he said. “I have nothing to sell to you.”

  The stranger flashed his eyes at Dormilir, his pupils tightening to cat-eye slits. But the same wry smirk lingered on his lips. “I’m not interested in anything of high quality. Your disposable pieces will do. Your…mistakes.”

  “I don’t make mistakes.”

  “Oh, don’t be so boastful. We all make mistakes. In fact, we all are mistakes.” The stranger was close now, within touching range of Dormilir. “But where others cast mistakes aside, I embrace them. I nurture them. Such marvelous creations can evolve from what others scorn and deride.”

  Dormilir said nothing, but his glower spoke volumes. The stranger plucked a metal gauntlet from a rack of finished armor pieces near the wall. It was simple metalwork, overlapping scales of steel along the fingers and polished plates to cover the back of the hand and forearm. It had no cosmetic adornments, such as gemstones or engravings – it was born solely for battle. The stranger slid his hand into the gauntlet, and what happened next made Dormilir question his own sanity.

  The gauntlet changed. It…moved. It rippled and flinched with involuntary life, stretching and pulling itself into a new form. The fingers extended into talons, the plating adopted a bruised, purplish color, and it lengthened to wind up the man’s arm like tree roots, clinging to its new master. The spot on the back of the hand blinked open to reveal a pulsating fleshy orb, like an eye or a spherical heart, glowing like a fire-lit ruby. It had become part of the man, and yet even as an inanimate item, the gauntlet shuddered as if in pain.

  “What dark magic is this?” Dormilir wheezed.

  “It’s Distortion.” the stranger replied casually. “I need base materials to work with. Most anything will do, as you see. I have a pressing engagement coming up of the…violent sort, so my servants and I are collecting armor, weapons, men…”

  “Men?” Dormilir kept his gaze steady on the stranger, while slowly reaching his hand around towards the back of his belt.

  “I’m recruiting, so to speak. I’m afraid I made a bad impression on the Knights of Luuva with all that business in Syphurius. I don’t want us to be at odds. I’d much rather we all get along, that we’re all on the same side.” The stranger walked back towards the Hijn, who hadn’t budged an inch. One of the Hijn, a woman with long raven hair, bluebell skin and tear-shaped pearls under each eye, had a clouded glaze in her stare. The stranger patted her cheek. “And with pretty Miss V’Tanna giving us such an easy mode of transport with her tempests, we can pull in recruits from all over Luuva Gros in a short time.” He paused, and snickered. “Forgive me, sometimes I get so enthralled with my aspirations, I prattle on. It’s not like you’ll remember any of this, but I miss having pleasant conversation. These six are rather useless for that.”

  Dormilir allowed him to chatter away, hoping the man would be so caught up in his talk that he wouldn’t notice that the blacksmith was gradually withdrawing an iron hatchet tucked in his belt behind his back.

  “However, they are useful for some things.” The Distortionist snapped his fingers, and one of the male Hijn, a hulking mass of ash-gray muscle and a topknot of dark hair atop his head, extended his hand out and
murmured a strange language. In half a second, Dormilir felt the hatchet in his hand burning, searing his skin, and with a yell he flung it onto the floor. The hatchet melted into a smoking puddle.

  “What have you done to them?” Dormilir spat, clutching his scorched hand.

  “Distorted their minds,” the Distortionist sighed irritably. “I’ve explained what I do. I hate it when people don’t listen.”

  “You…you must be what they’ve been talking about! That thing that fought the Swordmaster.” Dormilir glanced behind him, at all the swords, shields, and armor he had forged. If he tried to use any of them, they would suffer the same fate as his hatchet. Praying he would be fast enough, he lunged for a bronze bell that was hanging next to the shop window – a warning bell, one of many throughout Thordayne that was intended to warn anyone in the tower of danger. Before he could touch it, he snapped back his hand as the bell flared orange with a magma heat, and melted into splatters at his feet.

  “You won’t get out of here,” the dwarf bellowed, hoping his voice would be heard outside. “This tower is full of knights! Even with the Hijn Council manipulated, you can’t fight all of them!”

  The Distortionist scratched his chin. “Truth is, I could…I have. But I’d really rather not. What a waste of good material.” He walked towards Dormilir, who dashed to climb out the window. The stranger’s newly formed gauntlet lashed out like a whip and snagged Dormilir by the leg, and with a swift snap, it yanked the Stonebreaker back into the room and flat onto the floor.

  “You need to set an example,” the stranger cooed, as he approached the prone blacksmith. “None of my servants have seen how I work my abilities on people from start to finish. I want them to see how this is done. I want them to see what creatures they’ll be commanding to do my will.”

  A strangled noise came from one of the Hijn, the only female other than V’Tanna. She was ethereally beautiful, despite her face and robes being dirty and her snow-pale hair mussed up in tangles. While she still didn’t speak, there was a slight glint of recognition in her eyes, a tremble in her eyelids. Her breathing was rapid, and her lips quivered.