Twice Drowned Dragon (The Gryphonpike Chronicles Book 2)

by Annie Bellet

  Twice Drowned Dragon

  A Gryphonpike Chronicles Novella by Annie Bellet

  Copyright 2011, Annie Bellet

  All rights reserved. Published by Doomed Muse Press.

  This story is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be addressed via email to doomedmuse.press@gmail.com.

  Cover designed by Greg Jensen with art by Tom Edwards.

  Electronic edition, 2011

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  We all know this tale. There once was a beautiful elven princess who lived in a crystal forest in a hidden kingdom far beyond the common worlds. Her voice was unparalleled among the World-singers and her power brought her all she desired.

  Until Wrath and Pride wound their way around her heart, turning songs of beauty and creation into songs of death and violence. For her crimes, she was cast out and cursed to live among the lesser creatures, among the elves and men who had forgotten those who sang into existence the earth they squabbled over. Her voice was stolen; her words taken like ember-waves melt footprints from the glowing sands.

  Her banishment and silence will end when she has purged her crime by doing one thousand good deeds. So she joined with a ragtag band of adventurers who call themselves the Gryphonpike Companions.

  I am that foolish Singer. These are the chronicles of my path home.

  * * *

  Twice Drowned Dragon

  Men’s screams pierced the lazy summer air. I shrugged out of my pack, stopping only long enough to re-sling my quiver over my shoulder. Behind me, I heard the thuds signaling my companions were doing the same.

  The Barrowroad, which was really a wide and often muddy dirt track, took a turn just ahead, cutting through a grove of bog cypress that reached depressed branches down to comb the road. Drake, his rapier in his left hand and his kukri in his right, ran past me. Makha cursed and clanked up behind, her plate armor glinting in the sun and her shield unslung. She hadn’t buckled her helmet yet and her red hair twisted around her face in sweaty tangles. Overhead I heard the whoosh of Rahiel’s wings as the pixie-goblin sorceress took off. Azyrin, our half-winter-orc shaman, came up along side Makha and I, his falchion in one hand as the other clasped his amulet.

  We turned the bend in the road at a jog. Ahead, the trees and brush of the swamp shook and the screams intensified.

  “Men, four of them, no, five,” Rahiel shouted down from far overhead. “Just off the road. And… huge spiders!”

  “Has to be thumpbrained spiders,” Makha muttered. “Thought the Barrows was supposed to be full of undead. Somethin’ worth fighting.”

  “I am certain those men will be glad for help,” Azyrin said.

  Drake disappeared into the trees and I followed him down a much wetter, muddier track. Ahead, another scream, this one cut short. Then the cart and its occupants came into view among the mossy trees. One man lay groaning to the side of the cart. Another, wearing much finer clothing than the others, was crouched behind a dead mule still tangled in the harness and tracers. Two others were trying to fend off the spiders using a pickaxe and a sword that hadn’t seen proper care in many winters.

  Rahiel hadn’t exaggerated. The two spiders were as big as two horses each with spiny protrusions on their legs and vicious, dripping mandibles. The smell of blood, bile, and something more rotten underneath cut through the thick swamp air and made my eyes water.

  I drew Thorn, my bow, back until the fletching brushed my lips. My first arrow slammed into the nearest spider’s thorax and its blood spurted, sending thick black droplets onto the mud. The spider hissed and reared back, slashing out with its clawed front legs.

  “Out o’ the way! Get back!” Drake shouldered a bleeding man aside. His kukri bit deep into the spider’s leg, leaving the claw hanging by a gristly margin. Blood sizzled on his blade but I barely registered what it might mean.

  I loosed a second arrow past Drake’s shoulder as he ducked another leg swipe. My shot went slightly wide, skidding over the hardened carapace armoring its legs. My next shot took it in the thorax again, this time drenching Drake in the black fluid.

  He screamed and leapt back, smoke rising from his clothing. Splinters, their blood would just have to be corrosive.

  Azyrin shouted behind me, and shimmering light bathed Drake, coating his dark skin. His swearing ceased, as did the smoking of his clothes. Blue bolts sizzled down from Rahiel as she flew closer, bursting in the eyes of the injured spider. Its companion darted in and I opened my mouth, trying to yell warning.

  Nausea hit me like a giant’s mace to the chest. No communicating. That is my curse. I am mute, and even trying to mouth words or gesture overtly causes horrible pain and nausea to overtake me. Gasping and gagging, I dropped to my knees, leaning hard on Thorn.

  My collapse distracted Makha from her charge and she half-turned. She was the only one who could have possibly reached the second spider in time. Drake dodged the flailing legs of the injured spider but ducked right into the path of the second.

  It had apparently had enough. It shot a gout of sticky white fluid at Drake, catching him in the chest. Without waiting, the spider leapt forward, grabbed the trapped rogue up in two of its front legs, and bolted for the trees on the remaining six.

  I shoved my way to my feet, reaching for an arrow. My shot was tangled in the thick moss and I stumbled forward, spitting bile. A glance at the sky told me Rahiel, now riding Bill, her mini-unicorn, was still busy throwing spells at the injured spider, keeping it off the men in the cart. Makha glanced at Azyrin, and then at me, before she charged into the swamp after the spider that had taken Drake.

  I followed her, slashing at the brush with my heavy bow. A roar cut into the sound of battle and ahead I saw the silver-and-black flash of the mist-lynx as Fade materialized, stopping the fleeing spider in its tracks. He crouched, tail whipping back and forth, his snarls driving the spider back. I doubted it had ever seen a cat half its own size before.

  Makha charged and bashed her great shield into the protruding spinnerets in the spider’s rear abdomen. Sticky fluid and black blood splashed her and she fell back with a cry.

  I strafed to the left, closing in and shooting arrows into the spider’s exposed abdomen as quickly as I could draw them. Drake was still alive, struggling beneath the creature, and I tried to put arrows where its acidic blood wouldn’t rain down on him. I couldn’t shoot into its soft belly from this angle, especially not without damaging Drake, so all my arrows did was slow and anger the spider. I winced as the wooden shafts smoked and started to dissolve beneath the coating of its blood.

  A hideous scream rang out behind us and a moment later something pink and green flashed overhead. Rahiel. Blinding white light zinged from her fingertips, lancing into the spider’s gleaming black eyes. It shied sideways, but didn’t release the rogue.

  “Kill it! Kill it with fire!” Drake yelled.

  “No angle!” Rahiel yelled back. “You will burn.”

  We needed the spider to drop him but it was hanging onto its prize with stubborn tenacity even as we surrounded the creature. I aimed ano
ther arrow at one of the legs gripping Drake, but the wedged broadhead arrow only gouged the tough hide. Makha was on her feet again and leapt for its injured spinnerets, but the spider twisted and spit a gob of black fluid at her. She brought her shield up just in time. The poison splattered and smoked on the metal.

  I reached for another arrow as an idea hit me. This time I drew one of the snake-tongue arrows. The heads were special, forked like a snake’s tongue that gave them their name, with sharpened edges on the inside. Taking a half step forward as I gauged the distance the arrow needed to spin, I aimed for the joint between the upper and lower part of the already gouged foreleg.

  My arrow flew true. The sharp fork sliced into the joint, severing the leg completely. Not daring to breathe between shots, I aimed, shifted, and sent another at the other leg holding Drake captive. The spider had no chance to react before that arrow severed its other leg.

  Drake dropped and rolled free with a shout of “fire now!”

  Rahiel’s spell started as a gleaming red bead sparking its way through the damp swampy air. It hit the spider and turned into an immolating ball. The creature shrieked and curled in on itself, crumpling into a steaming black ball the size of a small cottage. It smelled no better dead and burning, unfortunately.

  I threw Thorn over my shoulder and drew my dagger, moving to cut Drake free. The spider’s silk was a sticky mess but sullying it with mud did the trick and we got him loose.

  “No saving this shirt, eh?” Drake sighed and yanked the tatters off himself.

  “Looks as though your chest hair made the sacrifice as well,” Rahiel pointed out as she and Bill flew down to level with our faces.

  Drake brushed flaking black blood off his chest and winced at the patchiness of his dark chest curls. His bark-brown skin was red and pink where the acid had burned him. “Son of a bitch.”

  “You’ll heal, knucklehead.” Makha wiped her shield off with a handful of muddy leaves. The metal was pocked by the acid, but looked otherwise undamaged. “Azy stayed with those men?” she asked Rahiel.

  “Yes. We took care of that other spider.” Rahiel turned Bill and started heading back.

  “Heal my ass. What if it never grows back?” Drake muttered. “The ladies’ll weep.”

  Makha and I both shot him a look and then set out after Rahiel.

  Azyrin had the wounded man loaded onto the cart by the time we walked back. The man who had been cowering behind the dead mule was cowering no more; instead, he was arguing with our shaman.

  “Thank you for your help, adventurer. But we’re fine. Garl and Pibbsen will find that other pesky mule and we’ll be on our way.”

  “What’s the problem?” Makha asked, coming up alongside her husband.

  “I offered escort to Coldragon. This man, he say no.” Azyrin’s blue lips were pressed into an annoyed line. I got the impression the man had said more than no. It took a lot to annoy the very patient half-orc.

  The two men who had tried to defend against the spiders earlier reappeared, one leading a sweat-soaked mule. A wide, shallow cut marred the mule’s shoulder and I guessed he had panicked in the traces when they were attacked, cutting himself as he bolted free. Why they hadn’t all tried to run for the main road, I didn’t know. Apparently this was the only creature among them with sense. Typical humans and their bravado.

  “Thank ye for your help,” the older of the two men said gruffly. They both ducked their heads and then went to the front of the cart, one pulling a knife and starting to free the dead mule from the tangle of harness.

  The mule rolled the whites of his eyes at the smoldering corpse of the first spider but the man in fine clothing took its lead and it instantly quieted, the muscles beneath its dun hide going tense and very still.

  “We were planning to detour to the honey monks, but it’s truly no trouble to go straight on to Coldragon. If spiders like that will come attack in broad daylight, no telling what else might wander out of the swamps. Mister, eh. . .?” Drake put on his bright smile and held out one mostly clean hand.

  The man sneered down his thin nose and folded his arms. Rings glinted on half his fingers, the gems looking warmer than the man’s eyes. “Master Ziarnys,” he said, emphasizing the title as though it meant more than just that he was probably an elder in his town. “Go on to the honey monks. I am quite sure we require no more assistance.”

  He turned away and started directing the men in hooking the remaining mule up to the cart as though the five of us weren’t standing here. Undaunted, Drake pulled out a flask and stepped up to the back of the cart where the injured man rested against a pile of empty burlap sacks, his hand pressed against a crude bandage over his belly.

  “That an elf?” the man asked with a nervous glance at me as he waved away the offered flask. “And what’s she, eh? In the gown with the wings? And is that a pink unicorn? Awful teeny, ain’t it?”

  “Shh, don’t tell him that.” Drake winked at the man which coaxed a wan smile from him. “You a mason?” Drake asked then, motioning to the shovels, spades, and other work equipment piled in the back of the cart. The whole of it was coated with grey rock dust, like one might expect from a work site.

  “Aye, we’re, uh,” the man started to say, but then his eyes widened and he put one hand to his throat with a groan.

  “We no longer require you here. If you want to get to the honey monks by sunset, you should move along.” Master Ziarnys came back around the cart and the air turned a few degrees colder.

  My fingers twitched toward my quiver and I tightened my grip on my bow. Something strange was going on here. Humans were usually a little suspicious of our ragtag band, but the Adventuring Guild medallions hanging at our belts or around our necks generally assuaged the fears of all but the most inhospitable of folk. This thin-faced human with his glittering jewels, hard eyes, and velvet clothing appeared to be in the latter group.

  “Come,” Azyrin said, putting a hand on Drake’s shoulder when it looked as though the rogue would object. “We see we are not needed.”

  We headed back down the path to the road and found our packs where we’d dropped them. According to Azyrin’s map, the honey monks had a monastery not far from Coldragon, somewhere in the swamp along a dirt track. We found it just down the road from where we’d turned off to fight the spiders.

  “That man gave me the creeps,” Drake muttered behind me, voicing my own thoughts.

  “What were they doing out here? That track isn’t on our map,” Makha said.

  “Masonry gear. Maybe the ‘master’ has a keep nearby. He was certainly wearing fine enough garb to pretend at nobility,” Drake added.

  “I am filing it under not my problem,” Rahiel said. “Tonight we will get to eat the finest honey in the known world. Who cares about some ponce with more gems than sense?”

  “This honey’d better be as good as you say, flitwing.”

  “Oh, it is, my muscled mountain friend.” I could hear the grin that must have been splitting the pixie-goblin’s face as she answered Makha. She had done nothing but go on about the monks and their special bees since she had realized that the monastery was here in the Barrows and not far off our path.

  “Those spiders should not have attacked men in daylight,” Azyrin said. “It makes no sense.”

  “Why? Maybe they were hungry,” Drake said.

  Fade materialized from his mist form and padded along beside me. His ears were flat against his head, their thick fur tufts blending with the black and silver of his coat. He was probably as tired of the moist heat and muddy stench of the swamp as I was. I wished I could tell him that by the time we got to the other side of Coldragon; we’d be into the lowland plains and free of the sucking wet of this place. The lowland plains had streams and rivers aplenty, good flowing water wholly unlike this stagnant, weed-choked, mosquito-breeding brackish swamp.

  “Those were giant trap-door spiders. They ambush prey, not hunt it. You see lair? You see woven grass and moss?”

&n
bsp; “No,” Drake said and Rahiel echoed him.

  “Is bad thing. Not right when creatures behave strange. Something wrong with swamp here.” Azyrin’s leather hauberk creaked as he took a deep breath and then sighed.

  “Osh, well, we’ll maybe learn more from the monks,” Drake said.

  “Let us hope,” the shaman replied.

  I looked down at Fade and his defensive, unhappy posture, and let out my own deep breath. Let us hope, indeed.

  * * *

  The sun had sunk low enough that it was little more than a bloody wound on the horizon by the time we sighted a gap in the moss-choked trees and the stone bell tower of the monastery. It stood at the top of a hill and we were not quite halfway up when we heard men shouting in panic.

  “Oi. Really? Again?” Drake didn’t bother dropping his pack this time, setting out at a clumsy jog as he drew his rapier.

  I shifted my pack on my shoulders and followed him as Rahiel and Bill once again took off over our heads.

  The gentle click and buzz of the swamp’s insect life gave way to shouting and the angry whirring of thousands of bees. The bright green bees, each as large as my thumb, swarmed out of tall, conical hives that looked almost like ocean coral. As I crested the rise and leapt the low stone wall defining the monastery grounds, the source of their irritation came into view.

  The creature was half again the height of an elf, with a blue-grey hide, one giant red eye surrounded by bristly fur, and a single clawed foot. It gripped a huge spiked chain in its single claw, which protruded from the center of its stocky body. The beast looked like something from a child’s nightmare. Its chain was real enough though as it swung and crushed into the side of a small stone building, sending chunks of masonry flying. It made a terrible keening sound, but I could see no mouth.

  Six monks in homespun robes were trying to drive it away from the hives with yelling and smoking torches. The creature lurched back from them and howled again. The bees were swarming, but not attacking, instead forming a loud, dark cloud over the battle field.