“It’s up to something,” the monster hunter whispers.
“I’m a little queasy and weak,” Luke finally replies, unaware of the tension within the group. He grimaces when he feels something crawling beneath his skin. “I get strange sensations like parts of me are going to fall off or worms are about to burst from my body. Almost like I’m filled with maggots. My sound sight doesn’t work and the griffin spirit is a constant whimper in the back of my mind. The good news is that I can still wiggle my toes.”
“Fizzle feel sleepy,” the drite chimes in as he returns to Timoran’s horse. “Curse taking more aura. Fizzle need rest. Produce more aura in sleep.”
“We’re in trouble if he isn’t ready to fight by the time we reach the caves,” Zander complains, jumping at the sound of the wyvern’s claws skittering along the treetops. “That thing is really making me nervous. It knows we’re here and it’s trying to think of a way in. It might not be as berserk as you think, but it could be building up to that.”
“Calm down or you’ll bring the wyvern down on our heads,” Sari snaps, breaking her trance. She focuses on the ceiling of snow while icy sweat trickles down her cheeks. “Do you think we can wait here and the wyvern will go away?”
“The infected animals don’t have time to spare, so they’re going to become obsessed with whatever they think will help them,” Luke answers, rubbing his palms against the gems in his saber pommels. He knows the rubies are smooth, but they feel like they are grating his sensitive flesh. “We need to do a mercy kill.”
“Finally talking some sense,” the monster hunter states with a grin. He urges his horse to ride far ahead and whistles. “Come and get me!”
With a furious roar, the wyvern destroys a chunk of the snow covered branches with its deadly tail. The cold powder and pieces of wood fall over the adventurers as the beast whirls around for another pass. Flying low, the wyvern spins and smashes the trees to its left. Sari and Luke’s horse rears back, sending the half-elf to the ground where he is nearly trampled. Timoran leaps off his mount and draws his great axe as the hungry predator lands with a thud. It whips its tail at the barbarian, who drives his weapon into the barbed end.
“Keep it distracted,” Zander whispers, aiming at the wyvern’s throat.
The hunter is about to fire when the creature charges forward and chomps through the jugular of his horse. With the flick of a wing, it knocks the dead steed over and the corpse pins Zander to the ground. The wyvern tries to move closer, but Timoran pulls it back and twists the embedded axe to draw its full attention. Black foam and fresh blood dribbling from its mouth, the creature turns to roar at the source of fresh agony. It flicks its tail to throw the barbarian at Fizzle, who is darting around and waiting for an opening. The drite dodges the large man and finds himself heading for the greedy mouth of the wyvern. He dips under the predator’s chin to escape, but is snatched out of the air by one of its splayed feet.
“Curse make it fast!” Fizzle cries, squirming beneath the bigger creature. “Near-dragon dead. Fizzle no sense aura. It only curse now.”
Timoran bellows as he charges and swings his axe at the wyvern’s chest. He sees the beast flex its muscles and the thicker, dull brown scales gather over its heart. The weapon harmlessly bangs off the natural armor and he is kicked away by the powerful hind legs. Sari hurls daggers and Zander fires with his longbow, but their projectiles barely phase the numb monster. With a predatory hiss, the wyvern bends down to Fizzle and opens its mouth.
Loud and clumsy footsteps cause the wyvern to turn and hiss, the scent of its enemy having been masked by its own infection. The noise is cut off as Luke drives his sabers into the beast’s head and a black energy swirls around his blades. The reptilian creature’s skin bubbles and pops as the churning aura rips through its veins. A look of relief and thanks is on the wyvern’s face before its head pops in a small blast of black ooze.
The congealed Dark Wind covers Luke and sinks into his skin, the dark energy around his blades growing brighter. A sputtering of pink erupts from the wooden ring on his right hand, the engraving of dancing pixies spinning wildly. The opposing energies spiral around the half-elf and batter at his body, driving him to his knees. He tries to drop his sabers, but the dark magic has stuck them to his palms. Luke unleashes a horrifying scream as a feathery wing bursts from his back and uselessly flaps around.
“I got him!” Sari shouts, diving off her horse and pouncing on the half-elf. She attempts to chant a spell, but is knocked away by the flailing wing.
Fizzle darts at Luke and clings to his chest, the drite taking a deep breath. The black and pink auras flow into his mouth and he fights the urge to vomit. Once the griffin wing retracts into his friend’s body and the half-elf passes out, the drite soars into the wintery sky. A rainbow cloud appears with the flashing of purple lightning around the edges. As Fizzle darts away from the released energy, the magic erupts in a booming explosion and the energy shockwave runs across all of Ralian.
“Fizzle have bad taste,” the drite says in a hoarse voice. He gracefully lands next to Luke and spits rainbow slime from his mouth, the muck sprouting colorful flowers when they hit the frozen earth. “Not know what happened. Luke asleep and Fizzle need rest. Wake us when at cave.”
Timoran picks the tiny dragon up and places him on his shoulder, wrapping the tail around his neck. “I will always be humbled by how much courage is in your small body. Thank you for everything you have done and everything you will do, my little friend. Take a nap on my shoulder and I will carry you the rest of the way.”
“Thank you, Timoran,” Fizzle mumbles in Draconic, his eyes already closing.
*****
The younger halflings cover their mouths to stifle their laughter as they listen to Delvin make baby talk at the red-scaled creature in his lap. The infant Verenstone Dragon flaps its fiery wings every time the warrior tickles its red-scaled belly. It squeaks and purrs when he strokes the ridge of black fur running down its back. A ball of orange fire circles its tail, occasionally flickering weakly from the Dark Wind infection. Whenever the beast has a coughing fit, Delvin massages its chest to calm the tiny creature down. Both of them are knocked over when the full-sized Verenstone Dragon, that the warrior is leaning against, unleashes a powerful sneeze. The blast of fire arcs into the air where it splits the distant clouds, briefly bathing Fyric in warm sunlight.
“Don’t worry. We’ll have you and your baby healthy soon,” Delvin tells the dragon, patting her on the side. He gently places the infant near its mother’s head and jogs over to where a group of priests are tending to a colony of sprites.
On the other side of the courtyard, Nyx struggles to get bandages around the bleeding neck of a winged wolf. The scared beast growls at her, stopping when her hair ignites in a threatening display of fire. The rest of the pack gathers behind their injured leader, eyeing Nyx with hunger and caution. When the bandage falls off, the frustrated caster coats her hand in flames and cauterizes the fresh wound before the animal can react. With terrified yelps, the entire pack takes to the air and retreats to the top of a nearby tower.
“Maybe you shouldn’t try to help us,” suggests a smiling halfling, patting the caster on the leg. “I hear Mayor Pam needs help at the Neberith Temple. When you get there, tell her the Remlopes are on a rooftop again.”
“Sure,” Nyx says, unable to hide the dejection in her eyes.
Hanging her head, the half-elf weaves through the healers and sick animals. New patients are being brought in by the hour and many of the towers have been turned into makeshift hospitals for the smaller beasts. Even the stables are being used to house the pegasi and griffins that arrived around noon. Nyx feels useless as she sees the halflings and Delvin running around with supplies. The Dark Wind has become so strong and potent that her magic can no longer purge it from the air, which eliminates the only thing she thought she could do. The caster is slightly relieved to be entering the central tower where none of the hard-working healer
s can see her failures. Still she finds that she cannot even help with preparing medicines or running supplies due to the other workers being a lot faster than her.
“They sent you back again?” Pam asks when Nyx walks up to the desk. The halfling shakes her head and hands the caster a stack of papers. “Make yourself busy with these request forms. Sort them by location first and then by medicine name. That should make things easier for the other bureaucrats.”
“I’m sorry I’m not more help,” the young woman apologizes, taking a seat and putting the papers in her lap. “Not like Delvin.”
“Nobody is like your friend,” the mayor admits with a laugh. She sits on top of the desk, her legs crossed and her quill racing across the forms in her hands. “He claims to have no medical training, but he’s been a big help. Such a soothing presence and he’s happy to learn from the priests. You might be leaving Fyric alongside a decent healer by the end of this.”
“That would be nice. My friend who’s a healer had to stop traveling with us when he lost his legs,” the half-elf says. Waving her hand over her face, the caster’s eyes turn green and allow her to read Pam’s sloppy handwriting. “Delvin really is amazing at times. It’s like he was born to absorb skills and knowledge. Though he has his limits. He popped a blood vessel in his eye trying to cast magic when we were in Gaia. It was funny and a little gross.”
“He sounds like a fun person to travel with.”
“Delvin is definitely a source of amusement.”
“No wonder you’re in love with him.”
Nyx drops the pile of forms on the floor and scrambles to clean it up, her cheeks bright red and warm. “Please don’t join in on that joke. My friends tease me about it all the time and Delvin won’t take the hint. He’s sweet and kind, but he’s getting pushy.”
“My apologies, young lady.”
The two women go back to their work, silently focusing on the forms that are neatly piling up in front of Nyx. When the desk is completely covered by ordered stacks, Pam whistles for a group of well-dressed clerks to hurry over. They carefully take the forms and yell for space as they make their way through the crowd. With no more paperwork, Nyx glances around the circular room for something else to do. The more time that passes, the more she wishes she had snuck out of town to follow the others.
“You should go back out there,” Pam politely mentions. The redheaded halfling walks across the table to put a hand on the caster’s shoulder. “I know you feel useless since your magic can’t help any more. You still have working hands, eyes, and ears, so there’s no reason for you to be wallowing in self-pity. If you’re so concerned with your performance then work alongside Delvin instead of avoiding him.”
“I’m not avoiding him. I thought splitting up to work in different areas would be smarter. Besides, Delvin is acting overprotective and keeps coddling me. I don’t want to hit him in front of the patients.”
“Interesting excuse,” the mayor states, turning to yell for people to clear a path. Everyone moves out of the way of three priests, each one carrying three crates of jostling potions to the outdoor healers. “It’s about time some more potions went out there. Come to think of it, I might have a job for you. Do you think you can infuse potions with your magic?”
“It’s possible, but my power works differently than holy magic,” the half-elf answers, biting her lower lip as a thought comes to her mind. “I can go to the roof and see if I can figure something out. At least I’ll be out of everyone’s way up there.”
Pam rolls up her sleeves and hops off the desk, her piercing eyes making a final scan of the room. “John is on the roof with a flock of vultures that are refusing to leave. I’m going to help out with the patients, so you’re on your own. I’ll trust you to find a way to help, but I still think you should work alongside your friend. For no other reason than you two will get to spend time together outside of a battle. I know how you adventurers live, so enjoy the less violent times when you find them.”
Nyx walks toward the bustling doorway of the tower, stumbling into the busy halflings and constantly apologizing. A tremor runs through her chest and she looks around when a woman whispers her name. Nobody is waving at her or trying to catch up, so she continues heading out the door. The cold air is like a hand squeezing her throat, the sensation easing when she sends a surge of heat through her body. Heading to where she last saw Delvin, Nyx feels another tremor as a man’s voice calls her name. She curses under her breath when she realizes her parents are trying to contact her through her amethyst necklace. The half-elf wanders behind the tower and finds a quiet spot to respond, a few wooly tapirs the only other creatures in view.
“I’m here, mom and dad. Are you two getting along? I know I said I’d contact you when I reached Fyric. Luke got infected by a living curse and things got out of hand. Yes, Stephen is around here and Delvin is watching over me. I’d love to see you two do that to the bastard. Can I say that it’s great that you two are getting along? I’m not trying to say you should get married and have another kid. I don’t want to think about that. Well I’m not going to dignify that with an answer, mom. Sari and Luke are still together. He’s still with Kira Grasdon too. I promise not to tell him that you and dad are taking bets on the outcome. Confessed to Delvin? Who told you I . . . how are you talking to Sari behind my back? People can use my necklace to talk to you when I’m asleep? I don’t have time for this. I’ll confess to Delvin when I’m good and ready.”
“Confess what to me?” Delvin asks as he stands in front of Nyx.
The caster blushes and drops the necklace, breaking contact with her parents. “I was going to admit that . . . I’m not much help around here. I think I should work with you instead of getting into trouble with the priests. Consider me your assistant.”
“Okay, you’re my lovely assistant,” the warrior replies, suspiciously eyeing the grinning half-elf. “I’m going to feed the baby Verenstone Dragon.”
“Great.”
“I thought you were going to say you loved me again.”
“Maybe someday,” Nyx laughs, immediately covering her mouth. She is thankful that Delvin merely smiles, puts an arm around her shoulder, and silently leads her away.
*****
Inhuman screams erupt with every blast of foul wind that comes from the cave’s gaping entrance. The matted grass has turned black from constant exposure to the Dark Wind, each blade seeping black ooze. A garden of crystals is on each side of the opening and more of the murky gems are sticking out of the ceiling. The bald hill behind the cave shudders with every burst of air, giving the appearance of the land coughing. Many of the surrounding trees have dead birds around their bases, the animals killed instantly by the potent living curse. Patches of Dark Wind are dangling from the bare branches, reminding the adventurers of torn curtains getting shaken in a steady breeze.
“Is Luke still unconscious?” Timoran asks as he examines the entrance from a distance. He shivers when a burst of toxic wind billows out of the cave. “I refuse to bring him any closer considering the dead birds. In truth, I would prefer if we moved him back a mile or two to be safe.”
“Luke weak and numb,” Fizzle replies, hovering above the wheezing half-elf. “No know how long Luke last. Fizzle go with Timoran. Fizzle fast and magic.”
“I’ll go inside with you,” Zander offers while massaging a cooling salve into his aching shoulders. He draws his scimitar and checks the edge for nicks. “Give me a few minutes to do some maintenance on my weapons. I want to make sure I’m at my best for whatever is lurking in there.”
“What you think there?” the drite curiously asks.
The veteran hunter runs a whetstone along his sword and licks his lips as he considers what he knows of the terrain. “If we were going into a normal cave system then I’d guess shadow lurking beasts, giant spiders, and a solitary top predator. There’s always a lone beast that’s turned a cave system into its own kingdom. Those tend to make clean out jobs a real hassle. Anyway, I�
�ve no idea what we’ll find in this place. All I can think is something ancient, angry, and quite possibly corrosive. The gypsy should be able to charm and illusion us through a few of the challenges.”
“Sari will stay here with Luke,” the barbarian says, drawing his great axe. Not letting the gypsy argue, he swiftly explains his reasoning. “I am not comfortable with all of this either, but it appears we have no choice. Someone needs to watch over our friend.”
Fizzle taps Timoran on the shoulder and points his tail at Sari, who is not paying attention to her surroundings. She has moved back down the faint road to the base of an old pine, which seems out of place among the naked oaks and birches. Weaving her hands over her head, she creates a bed of snow with a layer of pine needles on the top. She puts a dry blanket over her creation and rises to her feet, wiping the snow from her skirts.
“Kill whatever is causing Luke pain,” Sari demands, refusing to turn around. She shifts her feet and beckons with both hands, causing a wave of snow to carry the unconscious Luke to the makeshift bed. “I’ll be waiting here. Even Stephen and Trinity won’t be able to defeat me because I’m not in the mood to hold back. I have an entire forest of snow and ice at my fingertips.”
“Part of me hopes they show up just so I can see what happens,” Zander admits with a friendly grin. He sheathes his scimitar and goes to work putting a new string on his longbow. “I don’t think we have much to discuss here. Unless you have a plan, Timoran. Not that we have anything to work with since we’re completely in the dark.”
“We go in and kill the Dark Wind’s source,” the barbarian declares. He takes a deep breath and lets his primal rage churn beneath his calm façade. “I will take the lead and handle all physical threats. Fizzle will focus on trap spells, barriers, and magical creatures. Zander will remain at range for as long as he can. If things look dire then I expect Fizzle to retreat since he is the fastest.”
“Fizzle return all here. Fizzle not leave Timoran behind.”
Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) Page 17
