“More flying, less whining,” Wren growled. “We don’t want to fly high anyway. Red sky, black suits, we might as well scream ‘here we are’.”
“Wonder if it gets dark?” Ziedra said, gazing around. “That would be the best time.”
They continued to float down the mountainside. Ziedra was right about the magic being strong. He felt it in her flight sigil. The slightest urging had him shooting forward like an arrow.
The group needed to duck down to go below the high reaching boughs of several closely spaced forest titans. As he dipped closer to the ground he caught a whiff of something foul. He looked around for evidence of what his nose picked up.
Dropping to some of the scrub trees he pushed some branches aside and peered around. There was something else… a sound.
As he drew closer, the sound resolved into a swarm of insects. The smell became obvious as well—carrion. Laying in a small clearing was the stripped carcass of an animal—a big one.
The skeletal remains lay collapsed in the middle of the patch of coagulated blood and brown needles. From the hip and shoulder joint it had been something that moved on four clawed feet. It had died less than a day ago, what little meat remained hadn’t yet even turned black. The strange thing, he saw no other tracks besides those made by the creature itself. Aside from an unusual curve in its back, he found no evidence of what killed it. The forest floor, covered in a thick layer of needle-leaves, showed little sign of disturbance, certainly not enough for the kind of pitched mêlée such a beast would cause if confronted.
Senalloy dropped down through the foliage on his location. The silver haired woman frowned.
Daena swooped in from another direction. She grimaced, green eyes narrowing.
His brow furrowed. He dropped down and poked around the bed of needles and dirt.
His jaw dropped and his stomach tightened as three of the large vertebrae of the thing’s spine tipped away and hung by tendons. The bones didn’t look deformed or cracked, they had been severed clean. “Whoa,” he let out.
Azir thought, frowning down on him from above.
Bannor nodded and rose into the air on a humming column of mist.
Wren led the way. He trailed after. He willed the shaladen back into a band on his wrist. He kept the others in sight but moved at a more gradual pace, he glanced back over his shoulder.
Senalloy looped back to cruise in the air next to him. The silver-haired Baronian studied him with violet eyes. She smiled.
He frowned and glanced back through the trees even though the kill site was long out of view.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead.
They weaved around a knot of trees and dropped into a trough between two ridges. The forest of giants gave way to more normal-sized trees another thousand or so paces down the hill.
As he flew along he shook his head. He glanced to the rocky terrain and vegetation passing below them. The woman asked hard questions, not that she expected him to know the answer.
Senalloy rolled onto her back and dropped a little below him.
She rolled her violet eyes.
He kept his eyes on the terrain.
She ra
ised an eyebrow.
He sniffed.
She grinned.
Senalloy drew close until her shoulder was touching his.
He stared at the landscape as they cruised down the hills over the smaller trees. That lake was still a fair distance off. Wren was focused on the terrain ahead of them. Her body was stiff like she expected trouble. Daena, Ziedra, and Azir, though they used different body language to express it, all seemed equally concerned. Senalloy appeared to be the only one who wasn’t worried.
As he looked at the woman, he had to admire her confidence, not just in this matter, but in nearly everything. He guessed that was the benefit of living to be that old.
She shook her head.
She sighed.
Senalloy’s eyes widened and her face colored.
He laughed.
The last of the mountain forest dropped away beneath them. Wren followed a gleaming thread of water heading through the foothills toward the lake.
He found it odd that if the first ones had occupied this place, why weren’t there signs of habitation—even ancient ones? Had so much time passed that they had all disintegrated? That didn’t make sense given the artifices of Starholme had survived for eons without a blemish.
Wren sped up. She obviously felt that with no ready cover they might as well just cover the distance as fast as possible. Soon they were shooting through hills at a speed that rivaled a bowshot.
From the way she swept through the turns Wren appeared to have trained to fly. Ziedra, the one who had granted them the gift of flight seemed almost bored. These maneuvers, as perilous as they seemed, were apparently of no moment to her. She stayed at Wren’s shoulder, shifting above and behind as the needs of the terrain dictated.
Daena loved the flying, the faster the better it seemed, her youthful face was lit up in an open display of fierce glee as she ducked and weaved through the obstacles in their path.
Wren’s brother was no flier, he followed his sister with gritted teeth, eyes riveted on the environment ahead. No doubt with the recently strained relations he felt reticent to complain about what was going on.
At such speed, they were out of the hills in a matter of a few long breaths. Over the flats, Wren leaned into even more speed, taking them over the landscape so fast the air was a roar in his ears.
The six of them shot out over the lake, kicking up wakes as they shrieked across the tranquil surface. When they were near the middle Wren pulled up and hovered. She looked down, frowned and judiciously rose until she was a good ten paces above the blood-colored ripples.
Arms folded, Wren frowned over at her brother.
he remarked.
Azir frowned at the dark-haired savant.
They both glared at her.
Ziedra’s declaration seemed to focus Wren. She turned and looked where the mage had indicated.
As they started in that direction Bannor focused a thought for Ziedra only.
The mage pulled up and circled around to him as the others drifted along after Wren. The woman’s brow furrowed as her dark eyes met his. She obviously knew something was up because she narrowed the thought down to him alone.
Ziedra grimaced.
he told her. The shore was close now. Wren gestured for the group to spread out.
Ziedra touched his shoulder.
He nodded.
Ziedra sped up and went in the direction the blonde savant indicated.
Senalloy pulled close and leaned in with a raised eyebrow.
The whole area made Bannor nervous, although there was no specific source to point to. A stippling of whip trees and sway-bark covered the otherwise barren shoreline. A narrow span of tumbled rocks smoothed over with dirt and mud jutted out into the lake twenty paces before ending in a large split boulder upon which a spiral shape had been carved. Flat rocks pressed into the hard dirt formed a path leading around the side of a broken rock formation over thirty paces high.
He sniffed the air, detecting nothing but the smell of marsh dirt and vegetation. Aside from the quiet hiss from Ziedra’s flight magic the only sounds were the songs of a few s
cattered birds, the breeze and the lapping of the lake water against the shore.
Azir remarked.
Bannor circled around the outcrop, staying high enough to avoid entanglement from the ground and anything potentially jumping at him from the vantages higher up.
Thick copses of trees formed a circle some five hundred paces across on the side of the outcrop. On the far side of the massif, the ground dropped away into what at first glance appeared to be a large pit. It looked as if a giant hand had scooped a hunk out of raw stone, leaving a scalloped depression some fifty paces deep and a hundred long, with the windward side forming a gradual slope up to ground level. Against the back of the pocket was a structure hacked out of solid heart rock. The arrangement was little more than six columns supporting a roughly domed roof. Centered under the roof were a large bowl and a waist high rectangular slab. The whole construct sat on a series of six tiers, each a few hands high. Two broad effigies leaned against the back wall on either side of the bottom-most tier. They depicted an enormously round and endowed female caricature with its hands outstretched.
Like everything else, the place looked empty and unused, as though built and shortly thereafter abandoned.
Wren floated down from above him and studied the area with a furrowed brow.
The ascendant of magic tilted her head.
Reality's Plaything 5: The Infinity Annihilator Page 19
