Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Before you get angry, I want to point out that we’re standing on an enormous pile of wood. Ignite the hive and we burn to death,” the forest tracker says. His eyes follow the erratic pattern of the lumber wasps, which have been riled by the smell of smoke. “Even if we could get out of the fire, the colony is composed of thousands of wasps. Some would get out and come after us, never giving up until they die or we’ve been killed.”

  “Would they ignore us if a bigger threat appeared?” Delvin asks with a cunning smirk.

  “Depends on the size of the threat.”

  “I was thinking more about speed than size.”

  “Oh, that could work.”

  The brown-haired warrior stretches his cold legs and tightens his shield straps. “Everyone prepare to follow me as fast as you can. Once the bugs go after Lucy, we sprint for the trees and hide. Nobody attack because we don’t want to draw extra attention to ourselves. We can retrieve the horses after the colony calms down.”

  Luke shakes his arms and takes a deep breath, caught off guard by a kiss on the nose from Sari. She gives him another peck on the cheek as she pulls away and gives him space to transform. Golden fur ripples down the half-elf’s body as his eyes turn brown and a beak grows from his face. Brown feathers cover his head and run down to his shoulders, a few molting off as the powerful body shivers. Blooming from his back, large wings flap while she rears back on leonine hind legs. A screeching roar bursts from her mouth, causing the lumber wasps to prepare for an attack. Fully transformed, the griffin launches into the sky and blasts through the gathered insects.

  “Run!” Delvin yells, leading the charge across the snow.

  The adventurers race toward the trees as geysers of lumber wasps erupt from every snow mound that they pass. Several of the insects dive at Delvin, but they are torn apart by the griffin soaring through them. Spiraling and darting, the majestic beast rips the bugs apart and draws the colony’s attention away from the retreating adventurers. The ground is littered with dead lumber wasps by the time the champions reach the trees and scramble into whatever little cover they can find.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Sari asks, watching the chaos from behind a thick, leafy shrub. She covers her mouth to muffle a scream when the griffin is blocked from view. “Those things are toxic and there’s so many of them.”

  “Griffins are immune to the venom, but they can still stab him to death,” Nyx says. She is about to throw a fireball into the swarm when Delvin catches her wrist. “Let me go. We’re safe in the trees.”

  “They can chop trees down with their tails,” the warrior whispers, pulling her behind an old maple and pressing her against the cold trunk. “If we help, we need to do it in a way that doesn’t bring attention to us. Your magic will give away our location.”

  A cold wind whips around them and circles the edge of the hive. Sari chants and holds her arms out, directing her spell to pick up the snow until she has created an icy tornado around the clearing. Understanding what the gypsy is doing, the griffin shrieks and dives into the column of raging powder. She tries her best to remain in view of the other creatures without making herself an easy target, but the biting wind makes it difficult to see. The elegant beast rockets out of the storm to kill a few more lumber wasps and dives back into the barrier, making it seem like she is starting a series of sneak attacks. The swarm follows her into the storm, but their wings are shredded by the polar gusts. Still alive, they fall to the ground and scramble into the earth as the snow falls and covers their hive once more.

  “I hope their wings grow back,” Sari says, stepping back for the griffin to land. She gives the beast a tight hug around the feathery neck. “That was great, but you have to stop making me worry about you.”

  “I would be worried if he did not make me worry,” Timoran announces, laying the traveler on the ground. “Let us wait a few minutes before returning to the horses. Though we are now two steeds short.”

  When Sari releases the griffin, the beast walks over to Nyx and nudges her shoulder. The half-elf grins and bounces on her toes, excited to no longer be riding a horse. Without waiting, the caster hoists herself onto the beast’s back and rubs her new mount’s soft feathers. Nyx practically purrs in joy at the feel of warm fur instead of a cold saddle. She waves at Sari, who is staring at her friend with a combination of jealousy and amusement.

  “I promise to be nice to Luke,” the caster swears. She yelps when the griffin rears back and shrieks in anger. “Calm down, Luke . . . girl. I’m never going to get used to that. Don’t worry, girl. The lumber wasps are gone and we’ll be on our way soon.”

  “Call her Lucy,” Delvin suggests while he pats the aggravated beast on the head. “She seems to like that name.”

  The griffin suddenly lurches forward and snaps at the unconscious stranger, her beak coming dangerously close to his throat. Timoran steps between them and pushes the beast back, its head trying to reach over his shoulder. The barbarian glances back at the man and notices a glint of metal in his clenched hand. He shoves the griffin away and growls to make her stop struggling, his primal rage bubbling enough for her to sense the danger. Timoran nods to Nyx, who gently strokes the beast’s head, before approaching the man.

  “We might have a problem, my friends,” the barbarian announces, holding up a circular, iron badge. It is engraved with the symbol of a seven-headed serpent, each fanged head impaled by a spear. “This traveler is a monster hunter. He makes a living off killing wild beasts that cause trouble for locals or have a species bounty on their heads. They are not well liked by tamed beasts or forest trackers because these people consider all dangerous animals to be monsters, so they kill without remorse. My clan had a problem with them about eight years back when they sought to hunt the snow tigers.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Delvin asks, getting a closer look at the badge.

  Timoran lifts the man onto his shoulders and begins walking toward the horses. “We make sure Luke, in either of his forms, is not left alone with this man.”

  *****

  Balancing among the naked branches, General Vile watches the champions escape the lumber wasps. The halfling blends into the snow and wood around him, his magic cloak mimicking the wilderness. He stays back, afraid that the griffin will notice his scent even through the masking herbs that he has rubbed over his body. Several times over the last week, the barbarian has come close to noticing him, which has caused Vile to become paranoid. Every day, the old warrior has held further and further back from the champions. If it was not for the wintery landscape and a minor scrying enchantment on his eye-patch, he would have lost them or been drawn into a battle days ago.

  “Wait,” he whispers, an alarming thought breaking his focus. “Where’s that drite? I haven’t seen him at all. That creature enjoys being invisible, so he must be around here somewhere.”

  Putting a quartz lens to his remaining eye, Vile scans the area for Fizzle. He curses when he sees the tiny dragon zipping high above the forest, never going more than half a mile away from the champions. The drite has been invisible the entire time and acting as a hidden rearguard for his targets. The halfling growls in frustration at having forgotten Fizzle and wonders if his enemies have been aware of him this entire time. Grinding his teeth, General Vile draws a smooth, ebony wand and spins it in front of him.

  “Open the voice and grant me audience,” he whispers. A swirling portal of dull red magic appears and shows him the noisy laboratory of Nyder Fortune. “Are you there, old gnome? I need to talk to you.”

  To his dismay, a naked woman with swirling black and white skin and light green hair pokes her head through the portal. She looks ragged and the edges of her knee-length hair are smoking as if they were recently on fire. The woman shushes Vile by putting a finger to her lips before retreating back into the laboratory.

  “Vile wants you, Nyder!” Yola Biggs shouts with enough force to shatter all of the glass around her. “He’s stuck in a tree and needs a ladder!”r />
  “I’m not stuck in the tree, you loopy goddess,” the halfling mutters, getting comfortable among the branches. “I’ve run into a situation and would like to request one of Nyder’s creations. I don’t have much time.”

  “Why don’t you ever ask for my help?” the goddess asks with a pout that makes her lips twice their normal size.

  “It’s too dangerous for you to leave Shayd. I would be a terrible person if I put you in harm’s way,” Vile swiftly answers, bowing his head to the Goddess of Chaos. He breathes a sigh of relief when she blushes, her cheeks turning a vivid red. “Besides, this is a minor task that a being of your power shouldn’t have to worry about. It’s merely a pest that I need to squash without revealing myself.”

  “I don’t have much, old soldier!” a voice shouts from Yola’s left.

  Nyder Fortune steps into view, his bald head covered in grease and blood. A stained smock protects his silk clothes, which consist of a bright yellow shirt and lime green pants. His bulbous nose is as red as his eyes and dripping sweat from a long day of work. The gnome places several tools on a nearby table, most of them edged and resembling torture equipment. Crossing his arms, Nyder waits patiently for his friend to talk. Yola imitates the gesture, but stops when the inventor glares at her disapprovingly. The goddess slinks away, her departure soon followed by a chorus of monstrous screams.

  “That noise is almost musical,” Vile says, curious about what the unhinged deity is doing.

  “Our dear Yola has claimed some of my older Weapon Dragons and is trying to teach them how to sing. She wants to take them to taverns and perform,” Nyder states, his voice edged with irritation. He sits on a metal stool and leans on the wax-covered table, looking more tired than he would like to admit. “Has something gone wrong with your hunt?”

  “I forgot about the drite, who has been acting as an aerial scout. I’m guessing they ignored him to make any pursuers think he wasn’t with them. I haven’t been close enough to hear anything, so they could be in communication with him. It doesn’t appear that he’s seen me, but I’m not comfortable following them right now. I was hoping you had a tool or a construct that I could use to continue tracking from a safe distance.”

  Nyder cracks his knuckles and holds his hands out, muttering an incantation. A thick tome appears in his arms and he rapidly thumbs through the pages. He pauses briefly to run a finger down an entry, scowling when he reaches the bottom. Flipping the book over, he checks the pages from the opposite direction. This time there are pictures on the paper alongside the previous words, the handwriting resembling the scrawls of an impatient child.

  “I hate to admit this, but I don’t have any scouting projects right now,” the gnome says, lazily opening to random pages. He tosses the heavy tome on the table, cringing at the echoing slam. “All of them are broken or in the field. Most of the functional ones are tracking Isaiah, who is apparently waiting for the champions in the nearest town. The Baron wants him watched at all times, so I’m unable to pull any of my toys away for you.”

  “It was worth an inquiry,” the halfling claims. He tucks his hands in his pockets to feel the soothing warmth of the magic buttons inside. “I’ll have to be more careful and keep an eye on that drite. Maybe I should seek to destroy it.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much,” Nyder states, surprising his ally with his casual tone. He chuckles at the confused look on the soldier’s face. “I forgot that you were hunting down your son when we received news about the drite. Stephen wants this to be left as a rumor, but Trinity happily confirmed that the creature is immune to his time magic. It would appear the gods have gifted it with the power to give our evil prince a true fight.”

  “So there is the chance that the drite is focused on looking for Stephen and has not bothered to look through my minor illusions,” the cunning halfling muses more to himself than the yawning gnome. “Still they have had it too easy during this journey. I feel it is time to give them a scare and put them on edge.”

  “Would Stephen be happy with that?”

  “He would disapprove of me endangering his plan. Though I’m still unclear as to how his plan works. Wait, did you say Isaiah was in the area?”

  “Yes, but you don’t have the power to defeat an opponent like him.”

  Cringing at the cold, General Vile takes his hands out of his pockets and pats himself in search of a piece of paper. Snapping his fingers at the portal, he points at a pen and inkwell near Nyder, who passes the items through the opening. The soldier leans against the tree and uses his knee to sketch a simple picture of a three-headed beast. The middle head is skeletal while the outer heads are shaped like the narrow skulls of a Sword Dragon. Club-like feet and two sets of wings are added to the sketch before he hands it to his friend.

  “This thing is ugly and disgusting,” Nyder angrily declares. He drops the picture on the table as if it is a piece of garbage. “More importantly, a Weapon Dragon like this wouldn’t work for very long. It could only fly for limited amounts of time because of the weight. The feet would make it unstable on the ground due to not having the proper wings and tail. The heads would have to be either synched to move the same way or left to fight independently. This simply isn’t possible, especially if you need it in a day or two.”

  “What if you used spare parts to make a barely functional version?” Vile calmly asks, scratching at his empty eye socket. “I don’t need it to work for longer than ten or fifteen minutes before it fails. In fact, it would be best if it fails.”

  Nyder scratches his head and looks at the offensive drawing again. “To what end?”

  “Isaiah can undo Stephen’s plan if he remains in the area.” The grinning soldier nods when the light of understanding shines in the gnome’s red eyes. “We need to make it look like we’re working on a new type of Weapon Dragon. Add clues that the factory is hidden within the Yagervan Plains or the southern jungles. As the champion’s protector, Isaiah will have to investigate this new development, leaving his charges undefended.”

  Nyder is already marking up the picture with a piece of charcoal as he thinks of ways to improve his ally’s plan. “I can have something put together in a few days and Yola will teleport it to a place near the champion’s location. Best to have it appear to have wandered into the area instead of being sent for a specific reason. Almost like it’s an experiment I lost control of. Not like that would ever happen. Don’t forget to tell Stephen about this, so he doesn’t misinterpret your actions. I’ll report to the Baron and help you recover some of your reputation. It appears the crafty General is back to his old self.”

  “Almost,” Vile softly whispers with a smile. “Thank you for helping. I’ll contact you after the attack and let you know how it went.”

  Nyder waves as he hops off the stool and walks out of view, the sound of him shouting at Yola echoing throughout the laboratory. The portal is still closing as Vile climbs out of the tree and trudges through the waist-high snow. The champions are far ahead of him, but his new plan means he can take his time. He is starting to relax when a snapped twig causes him to whirl around, his shortsword drawn. All he sees is a distant elk walking through the trees, so he sheathes his blade and continues on his way.

  4

  Luke glares across the circular table, the other guests in the tavern quietly waiting for a fight to break out. Casually leaning back in his chair is Zander, the monster hunter who is simply happy to be alive. The lean man puts his hands behind his head and winks at the forest tracker, flashing his off-white teeth at the growl he receives. Luke’s rumbling stomach makes it difficult for him to act intimidating, especially after Sari places a bowl of warm stew in front of him. All of the tired farmers and local traders are staring, the village of Sprildon being so small and remote that they rarely get adventurers. Most of the people are poised to run for the forests if these two strangers draw steel on each other.

  “I already bought all of you drinks and food. Would it help if I thank you again for savi
ng me?” Zander asks, a mocking glint in his hazel eyes.

  “You’re welcome again,” Luke begrudgingly replies. He eats his meal while keeping a constant watch on the monster hunter. “What were you trying to poach? I assume you were trying to get money from a lumber wasp bounty.”

  “This is why I try to avoid forest trackers. None of you are willing to face reality. Some creatures are problems and need to be eliminated. They’re beasts and wouldn’t think twice about eating us,” Zander says with a tired sigh. He watches Timoran rise from a nearby table, the barbarian preparing to join the debate. “If you must know, I was passing through to the north since I heard there were a few problem beasts on the shoreline. I tried a shortcut and stumbled into the lumber wasp hive. I’ve enough money that I don’t worry about bounty hunts that are so small. The money I would have made wouldn’t even get me a bottle of my favorite wine.”

  Luke meets the hunter’s stare and leans forward. “Those bounties should be stopped.”

  “They are used to control high populations of dangerous beasts,” the hunter replies, impatiently tapping his fingers on the table. “Yes, some hunters go too far and kill too many. Those people are demoted in rank or punished monetarily. Most of us aren’t money-loving poachers. We do this to protect people from the monsters of our world.”

  “Sounds noble, but it’s still poaching.”

  “And you never killed a wild beast?”

  “In self-defense or to protect others, but never for the sake of killing.”

  “Sounds noble, but it’s still killing.”

  “Enough!” roars Isaiah, who is sitting between the bickering men. The black-scaled fireskin slams his staff against the ground, shaking the building and silencing everyone. “I wish to briefly discuss some private matters with these adventurers, Zander. Would you be so kind as to sit at the bar until we are done?”