He sawed at it, not sure what he was attacking. Not that it mattered. He was being pulled farther away from shore and deeper into the water. The seven gods only knew where he was being taken. He hacked at the limb harder, his slashes wild. He scarcely cared if he cut his own clothes—or skin—so long as he freed himself.
Distant yells reached his ears, muffled by the water, but he barely heard them over his own thrashing. He hadn’t had a chance to suck in a big breath of air, and his lungs already burned. It didn’t help that the tentacle was tightening around his chest, squeezing him with the strength of a python.
Tolemek kept sawing, but his blade slipped, struggling to bite into the rubbery flesh. He tried stabbing behind him as far as he could reach, thinking there might be a head or body he could connect with. Maybe that would do more damage, or at least convince the creature to release him. His blade bounced off something squishy, but all that happened was the tentacle tightened even further around his chest. Precious air bubbled from his lips, and his ribcage creaked in protest. Something snapped in his vest. One of his vials. Fresh fear rushed through his body. What if it was one of his acids? Even under water, that could eat through his clothing and into his flesh.
Calculation replaced the fear in his mind as he realized an acid might eat through a tentacle too.
Gunshots fired somewhere nearby. Tolemek winced. As much as he would appreciate help, he did not want the others to accidentally shoot him.
He struggled to pry his way into his vest. To add to his misery, something in the water was stinging his eyes. The vial that had broken—it must have been one of his compounds for forming caustic gases. He hoped the water diluted it quickly.
Almost breaking his fingers in the effort, Tolemek finally managed to grip the vial he wanted—he hoped it was the one he wanted—and yank it out. His lungs were screaming for air. He tried to get his feet under him even as he worked off the cap. The water hadn’t been very deep the entire way up the river. If he could just stand, his head should break the surface.
But the cursed tentacle had him pinned and would not let him adjust. He tried to extricate the viscous acid in the vial without touching his own skin. He dabbed it against the tentacle. Would the creature feel it? Was there enough to make a difference? Or would the water simply wash it away?
More gunshots sounded, along with splashes all around him. Something hard thudded into his rib cage. Someone’s boot? Great, his comrades were going to trample him in their eagerness to help.
Abruptly the tentacle released him. The tip of it thudded him in the temple as it whipped away. His head was snapped back, dazing him. The vial tumbled from his fingers.
Bullets fired right above him. He blinked a few times and gathered himself, pushing away the pain. He had to get out of there.
He had been spun around and had no idea which way the bank was, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was putting distance between that creature and himself—and finding some air.
Before he could do so, he was halted with an abruptness that jolted his knee. The tentacle around his ankle—he had forgotten about that one. He slashed at it with his knife even as he lunged toward the surface with his upper body. His lips finally broke out of the water. He gulped in air before the tentacle pulled him below again. He hacked at it in anger and frustration. Whether he cut through it or not, he wasn’t sure, but its grip lessened. He yanked his leg free and scrambled away. His knees banged on rocks, a sign of the water growing shallower. He raced out as quickly as he could, mud sucking at his boots every step of the way, the diabolical river reluctant to let him go. Finally, he collapsed on the bank, sucking in deep breaths as his oxygen-starved muscles trembled.
A shot fired again, and he pushed his hair out of his eyes. He questioned whether he had the strength to fight further, but if the others had gotten into trouble on his behalf, he had to help.
Out in the river, Cas, Duck, Sardelle, and Zirkander were hacking with machetes and shooting into the water. They stood more than waist deep—for Cas, the water was closer to chest deep—and no less than six dark purplish tentacles flailed in the air all around them. Sardelle lopped them off easily with her sword, which was glowing fiercely, leaving golden streaks in the dim air as it slashed about. But the creature continued to fight. Judging by the way Zirkander’s short hair was plastered to his head, he had been pulled under at least once too.
Tolemek forced himself to stand. The porters were staying on the bank, their eyes huge as they watched the battle—or maybe it was Sardelle’s sword that had surprised them. Either way, they were not inclined to risk themselves. Tolemek grabbed a machete from one of their hands. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he waded into the water again to help.
Before he had gone more than a couple of feet, Sardelle jumped into the middle of the team’s circle, plunging her soulblade into the water. The wavering tentacles all around the group halted, hung in the air for a moment, then slumped to the surface with defeated splashes.
“Is that it?” Zirkander asked, wiping water off his face without lowering the machete in his other hand.
“I think so,” Sardelle said wearily. She slumped against his side.
Cas found Tolemek’s eyes. “Are you all right?” She lowered her rifle and slogged through the water toward him.
Tolemek looked down at himself, not entirely certain yet. A blue stain marked his vest, thanks to one or more broken vials, but all of his limbs appeared to be attached. Sucking in a deep breath hurt his ribcage, but he did not think any bones had been broken.
“I think so.” He lifted an arm toward Cas, but realized he was still standing in a few inches of water and scrambled backward, finding solid ground before pausing for anything so indolent as an embrace.
Cas must have approved, because she smiled and nodded, joining him there.
“Thanks for the help,” Tolemek said, enveloping her in a heartfelt hug. He resisted the urge to pick her up—the one time he had done that during an embrace, she had glared bullets at him—but he squeezed her nearly as hard as that tentacle had squeezed him.
“You’re welcome,” came Zirkander’s sarcastic response as he, Sardelle, and Duck climbed out of the water. Blood was dripping from a cut at Zirkander’s temple, and he looked like he had taken the most abuse after Tolemek.
“Thank you, as well, Sardelle,” Tolemek said, deciding to ignore Zirkander rather than give him a response that probably would have been equally sarcastic. “And please give my gratitude to Jaxi, as well.” He was surprised the soulblade hadn’t echoed Zirkander’s “You’re welcome” in his head.
“Jaxi and I are feeling contrite,” Sardelle said, “since we couldn’t figure out how to help earlier. That octopus had dragon blood. It was highly resistant to magic, so we had to do it the old-fashioned way.” She made a face at the pulverized purple flesh sticking to her sword and dug out a soggy rag to clean off the blade.
“Octopus?” Tolemek said, at the same time as Zirkander said, “Dragon blood?”
“I thought octopuses were strictly seawater creatures.” Tolemek stared at the remains of their foe. “And rather smaller than that.”
“And that they didn’t have dragon blood,” Zirkander said. “Didn’t we agree that people—and animals, er, whatever—can only have dragon blood if some predecessor of theirs mated with a dragon?”
“That’s generally how it worked,” Sardelle said.
“Are you telling me that something as mighty as a dragon got bored one night, flew into the ocean, and explored the creative uses for tentacles? Do octopuses even have brains? Do they even mate? Like we do? Like dragons do?” Zirkander shoved his hand through his hair. “Why didn’t I bring Apex? I feel the need to consult him on this.”
“I think Apex is lucky he’s not here,” Duck grumbled. “He thinks dragons were noble. This might disturb him.”
“Jaxi says she recalls stories of a few blood-swapping experiments that didn’t actually involve sex. Science ex
periments, if you will. An attempt to create worthy pets. Octopuses do have brains, by the way. They’re considered quite clever compared to other water-dwelling creatures.”
Zirkander’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but he seemed to have run out of words.
A splash came from the water. Tolemek half expected the octopus to be rising for a second battle, but another alligator had appeared from the brush. It swam across the murky inlet toward the reeds and chomped down on the body Tolemek had been attempting to free.
He lifted a hand, as if he might yell or slap his leg and scare it away, but the creature was nearly fifteen feet long. It tore its prize free, then swam downstream, soon disappearing from sight.
“You’re welcome,” Zirkander called after it in the same tone he had used on Tolemek.
Sardelle raised an eyebrow at him. “You think it wasn’t going after the body because it knew about the octopus?”
“Yes, it’s smarter than us apparently.”
“The jungle doesn’t want to let me examine these bodies,” Tolemek murmured.
“Do you think the octopus is what killed them?” Duck asked.
Tolemek spread his arms. Until he could examine one, he would only be guessing.
A roar came from the opposite side of the river. A spotted jaguar crouched atop a thick branch, its yellow eyes watching them. Maybe he was happy about the destruction of the octopus too.
Zirkander picked up his backpack and waved toward the jungle. “Let’s get moving, people. I do not want to camp here tonight. I want—” He looked around. “Where did our porters go?”
Surprised, Tolemek spun a circle. He hadn’t heard a sound, but all four men had disappeared.
Sardelle sighed. “I believe that was my fault. Jaxi was glowing vigorously for a while there. I didn’t think to mute her—she’s tough to mute, regardless.”
“No kidding,” Zirkander said.
“I think she might have scared the men away.”
“How is a glowing sword scarier than a five-hundred-pound octopus?” Tolemek asked.
“Any chance of getting them back? Can you tell how far they’ve gone?” Zirkander asked Sardelle.
“I’m not sure. The jungle is so dense with life that it’s lighting up my senses. It’s hard to distinguish person from animal when they’re layered like they are here.”
“I was hoping we would keep our guides longer than half a day. We were getting along so well.” Zirkander sighed and pointed at the heavy packs the men had left in the mud. “Any chance Jaxi is willing to carry our extra cargo? Since her ferocity is what scared off our porters?”
“We’re discussing it,” Sardelle said. “The word demeaning has come up.”
“It wasn’t too demeaning for the porters. Or for us.” Zirkander adjusted the straps on his own pack.
“Yes, but you’re not a former world-renowned sorceresses. Her words, not mine. Actually, I may have edited her words for social considerations.”
“Anyone else hoping the dragon uses Sardelle’s sword for a toothpick?” Zirkander asked.
Despite his resolve to stay on Jaxi’s good side, Tolemek found his hand drifting upward. Cas and Duck simply offered raised eyebrows. They probably hadn’t experienced the joy of having the soulblade romp through their minds.
Not everyone is so special.
Tolemek grunted and raised his hand higher.
“Jaxi says that she might be willing to lighten our loads,” Sardelle said. “For those who recognize and are properly appreciative of her virtues.”
With great reluctance, Tolemek lowered his hand. He had his microscope case, as well as a box full of testing equipment. Carrying all of that, along with his share of food and water, would be a daunting load.
Good lad.
“I’m not real sure what to think about talking swords, but I’ll take the lead. This wilderness is a mite more crowded than my woods back home, but I’m not afraid of it. Much. I’m a brave feller.” Duck waved his machete overhead, looked around, and said, “Anyone seen a trail?”
“I think you just volunteered to make it, brave feller,” Zirkander said. “The plants probably grow so fast that trails get swallowed up in a few days. It’s a good thing you’re young, strong, and bold.”
“Not quite sure about his boldness after that incident with the leech,” Cas murmured.
Duck glowered at her. “We’ll see how bold you are when you’re the one being plucked instead of the one doing the plucking.”
“I’m not quite sure what that meant,” Zirkander said, “but I don’t want to know, either.”
“Nope. Some details shouldn’t be shared with one’s commanding officer.” Duck pushed aside some thick leaves, cut through a vine, and climbed over a log, choosing a route that would very slowly take them toward Mount Demise.
The jaguar roared one more time. Tolemek didn’t know if it was a farewell roar or an I’ll-see-you-people-tonight-for-dinner roar.
Chapter 6
A distant jangle woke Cas from a light sleep, and she sat upright, cracking her head on a branch before she remembered where she was. She crawled out from under the leafy tree “skirt” the entire group had collapsed under the night before. It had been pouring, and Cas was amazed that the thin tarp they had laid on the muddy ground to keep them and their gear dry had worked. As soon as she slipped out from underneath the branches, a river of rain funneling off a broad leaf splashed her in the face, and she decided that more than the tarp might have been keeping them dry. Perhaps Sardelle or her sword had provided some protection.
She squinted into the gloom around the campsite, searching for whoever was on guard. She thought morning might be approaching, but it wasn’t much brighter than it had been during her shift in the middle of the night, so she wasn’t positive.
“I heard it,” came Zirkander’s soft voice from the shadows of a tree.
“My alarm?”
“Either that or the monkeys found a few tin cans to practice their drumming on.”
“Maybe Duck and I should go back and have a look.” Even as she made the suggestion, she hoped Zirkander didn’t take her up on it. She wasn’t afraid of the predators—animal and otherwise—but the thought of backtracking wearied her. It had taken them four hours the afternoon before to slog this far; it was depressing to think that they were still close enough to hear her trap go off. Granted, she had designed it to be loud, but she feared they had only come about a mile, even if they had traveled four times as far on foot, circling gullies and ravines, not to mention impenetrable stands of cane plants that grew in dense clumps all through the area.
“I don’t want to split up the group,” Zirkander said.
Snarling yips arose nearby, followed by a yelp of pain.
“We’ll need to move soon, anyway,” he added. “Duck shot something on his shift, and it died over there. It’s drawing scavengers, large scavengers by the sound of it.”
“I heard.” In the middle of the night, the gunshot had woken her, making her bolt upright. That had been the first time she bonked her head on a branch. Duck had assured everyone that he had taken care of it, and the camp had gone back to sleep, but Cas had only dozed for most of the night.
“Maybe we can find a place to set a trap for our pursuer,” Cas said. “With us breaking the trail, he’ll likely reach us today.”
“Pursuers.”
“Sir?” Cas thought of the single man from the dirigible.
“Jaxi says there are several people back there, several armed people.”
“Jaxi? It—she, uh, talks to you too?” In the hopes of finding shelter from the rain, Cas pressed her back to the smooth bark of the tree next to Zirkander—the thick bole was wide enough that the entire group could have stood shoulder-to-shoulder around it and maybe the porters too, if they had still been there. If anything, this new position was damper, with rain running down the tree’s bark in sheets. “Sir, aren’t you getting soaked?”
“I haven’t been dry
since we got off that raft, so I don’t think it matters at this point. Yes, Jaxi talks to me. And yes, you’d better call her a she if you don’t want to irk her.”
“What happens if you irk her?”
“At the least, you probably won’t experience the dry zone that everyone else slept in last night.”
Cas had nothing to say to that. She would have liked to do some quick maintenance on her rifle, but if the powder inside the bullets wasn’t already damp, she didn’t want to risk causing it to become so. Between the rain and the muggy warmth, the air was as humid as soup.
“There are people out there,” Zirkander said softly.
“Out there? In the trees?” Cas hadn’t seen anything moving, but the foliage dropped visibility to a few meters in any given direction, if that.
“Literally, yes.” He shifted, fishing something out of his pocket. Was that his lucky dragon figurine? For a moment, he seemed like he might say more, but colonels didn’t confide in lieutenants. Apparently, they confided in sentient swords instead. He walked over to the tarp and tapped the boots sticking out of the shelter with his own boot. “Wake up, troops. We may have company coming.”
The squawks and chirps of the jungle stopped abruptly. Cas shifted uneasily, keeping her back to the tree. What predator did those animals sense that had alarmed them into silence? Neither carnivorous octopuses nor yipping coyotes—or whatever that was tearing into the animal Duck had shot—had caused a stilling of the ambient noises before. Soon, only the sound of the pattering rain filtering down from the canopy remained.
A faint zzzippt came from the trees. Something thudded into the bark above Cas’s head. An arrow.
Patterns in the Dark (Dragon Blood Book 4) Page 9
