Luke gulps down a piece of meat that causes him to cringe and hiss in disgust. “So you brought us to Caurea for food and fresh air? I’m not sure I understand your reasoning for taking us out of the prison. Since this place is a haven for innocent refugees, keeping prisoners here would make the city a target for your enemies.”
“We heard that the Feykin were planning an assault on the prison, which is why we had you transferred to Caurea immediately,” the Placid calmly replies, pushing Zohara’s plate closer to the priestess. His watery face becomes clear of features, which sends a chill down his guests’ spines. “I assume the entire facility is destroyed and most of our people are dead, but I will know more when our agents reach the area. Sadly, there was not enough time to join the fight or catch the Feykin in the jungle. None of this is what I truly want to discuss because the prison’s destruction only effects the Order. I want both of you to observe the true evil of the Feykin. Do you remember the Orchard of Silvestris, High Priestess?”
“It is a magical place that provides food to all of us,” Zohara answers while begrudgingly eating her meal. A bead of sweat appears on her brow as she stares into the man’s vacant, frothy face. “Everyone is allowed to take enough to survive, so it has always been neutral territory. The orchard has never been claimed by a single group even during times of war. I will admit that my people have not used it in years because of our bountiful harvests. Why do you ask?”
“We cut your people off from it to give the locals another haven.”
“That is not what the orchard was meant for.”
“You sacrificed your rights when you became a threat to us all.”
“How can you rationalize tampering with holy ground?”
Gursel’s face returns as a cold mask that includes icicles sprouting from his chin. “I suggest you hold your tongue, abomination, until you see what your people have done to your precious neutral territory. Stand near this young man when we arrive because you may find your legs too weak to function.”
“This is reminding me of Bor’daruk,” Luke whispers to himself. Going unnoticed by the arguing pair, the forest tracker quietly listens and tries to figure out the entire story. Every detail makes him wonder what the final piece of the puzzle will be, but he is sure there are plenty of surprises waiting for him. “Sounds just like the Grasdons and the Helgardians. So who is pulling the strings this time?”
*****
“Do you still think your people are innocent?” Gursel asks Zohara while his knights step out of the water. All of them are drenched from the Placid rushing them down the river like a collection of logs. “As you said, this is holy, neutral ground. We may have prevented you from accessing the food, but you are the ones who destroyed the land.”
From the top of the incline, the priestess can see the widespread decimation that Sari’s poison has caused. The orchard is nothing more than blistered stumps and a few sickly trees that are barely hanging onto life. Any apples that remain are wrinkled and covered in black sores that promise a painful death for anyone who dares to bite into the fruit. A foul stench wafts off the lake, which resembles an open, pus-filled sore on the land. In the center of the bleak landscape, the rotting chimera remains with its partially opened mouth aimed at the hill. The creature’s vacant eyes give the illusion of following the cultists, causing them to remain on edge. While the birds and deer escaped the destruction, other animals have been reduced to corpses scattered across the wilted ferns. Flies and beetles feast on the diseased flesh, which adds to the orchard’s toxic aroma. A weeping voice can be heard on the muggy wind, its highest pitch resembling nails on a chalkboard.
“This isn’t right,” Zohara whispers, leaning on Luke for support. She watches the cultists roam the area and drop crimson stones on the corpses, the rocks burning the bodies and cleansing them of the poison. “I have trouble believing that the Feykin did this, but you said there is a fake me and new leadership. Luke has told me the same thing. It would appear that they are the ones to blame. I swear that if I was still in Rhundar then none of this would have happened. Can’t you see that somebody is using my people to do evil? This person wants either the Order or the Feykin eliminated. Perhaps even both.”
“We considered that, but who would bother with a local feud?” Gursel asks, a look of sympathy on his face. He burbles in thought, knowing that his warriors do not want to see him show kindness toward one of their enemies. “The violence has been occurring for longer than your copy and her partners have been in control. For years, villages have been attacked and travelers have been raped then scarred. I know you deny this is your doing, but all investigations have pointed to the attackers being Feykin. As you can now see, things have escalated beyond the point of talking.”
Easing Zohara to the ground, Luke moves to rub his sabers before remembering that they are not with him. “It’s possible that somebody is using your feud to attack a third party. All of this is happening near a location that my friends and I were traveling to. Two of them are these leaders that you’re speaking of and they aren’t acting like themselves. You might not believe you’re worth manipulating, but I can think of a few of my enemies who would do this to give me some trouble. They might even push both your people toward mutual annihilation for fun.”
“Are you saying that your friends are behind these attacks?” asks the cultist, seeming to miss most of what Luke has said. The man’s hands turn into dripping blades of water, which he points at the unarmed half-elf. “You are not one of them, but now I wonder if you know more about their plans than I initially thought. You told the warden that one of your friends attacked you, which is why I stopped considering the possibility of you being a spy. Now seeing this destruction and hearing your story, I have to reconsider. One who does this is more than capable of nearly killing an ally and abandoning them in the hopes of them getting captured and acting as a spy. It is even possible that you are unaware of your true role and have been acting as a scrying beacon. Our watchers told us that a blue-haired Feykin poisoned the orchard. I believe you hinted that the one who turned on you was female.”
“Yes, but she could never do anything like this,” the forest tracker blurts out, glancing at Isaiah for help. The monkey remains on the cultist’s shoulder and shrugs, feigning the wisdom and intelligence of a wild animal. “I mean, it could be within her power, but the real Sari would never corrupt an entire area. Especially one that is holy ground and exists to feed innocent people. Don’t you see that this event is proof that my friends are being manipulated by somebody? We’re the champions who will face Baron Kernaghan. Destruction like this isn’t in our nature.”
“Perhaps your friend is this coming darkness that you have to fight.”
“I won’t fight her. Not again.”
“We’ll discuss that possibility later.”
Seeing that all of the dead animals are burning and the path is clear, Gursel walks down the incline. Isaiah awkwardly jumps to Luke, who is helping the stunned priestess along the uneven ground. The three are still in shock at the desolation and the fact that people they once knew are behind the corruption. The prisoners fall behind, which causes two of the knights to roughly drag the pair by their arms. Zohara is eventually hoisted over the male warrior’s shoulder, his platemail pressing against her stomach. More mobile and swiftly coming to terms with what has happened, Luke gives the female cultist less trouble. Not trusting the prisoner, she still shoves him in the back whenever he slows down to examine odd markings on the ground. One violent push sends the forest tracker tripping over a pile of stones and he lands next to the smoldering remains of a deer. Leaping to his feet, Luke is about to attack when Isaiah bonks him on the head with his red stick.
“Be patient and wait for an escape,” the monkey says, the words nothing more than chirps and squeaks to the others. Keeping up appearances, the caster picks a few bugs out of the half-elf’s hair and eats them. “I sense a malevolent presence. When it makes a move, the three of us will leave t
hese people to handle the danger. Go by foot because they will notice you changing and work to stop you.”
Patting Isaiah on the head, Luke swats the knight’s hand away from him and jogs to catch up to Zohara, who is walking under her own power. The other cultists are already marching into the orchard when he reaches the tree line, a wave of nausea hitting his stomach. Covering his mouth, the half-elf can feel his eyes watering from the foul stench that he could barely handle from the top of the hill. When he attempts to take a step, his leg shudders and falls back into its original position. A shove from the female knight sends Luke stumbling over the border, a faint pinprick of magic making him flinch. He is surprised when Zohara puts his arm over her shoulders and helps him walk. The priestess has tears rolling down her face, but she tries her best to fake a smile for the suffering warrior.
With the knights flanking them, the prisoners make their way through the orchard. Rotten apples and melted trees stick to their shoes, slowing them down until they find a clean path. The strange road of green grass is wide enough for them to walk in pairs and every step releases the scent of vanilla. Driven by paranoia, all of the travelers assume the swath of pure land is an illusion, but they find that there is no spell to see through. The muck that their feet leave on the blades dissolves, which Zohara takes as a sign that Silvestris still has some influence over the orchard. The others remain grim and cautious, ignoring the whimsical sighs of the hopeful Feykin.
“What in all of Windemere is that?” Luke asks as they catch up to the others. He stares at the dead guardian, its rigid body stuck with the head high off the ground. “I’ve never seen a beast like this before even though something about it is familiar. Maybe the parts . . . Is this a chimera?”
“They make handy weapons,” Gursel replies, his watery body looking dirty. He snaps his fingers at another cultist who gives up a waterskin, the clean liquid helping the Placid remain strong. “We had to weaken Silvestris’s sleep spell before attaching it to the chimera. That might be why the enchantment is dormant now. Let us take the creature’s brain and heart for our casters to examine. I doubt we will find any information about this incident beyond the obvious. The Feykin have become an even greater threat to the jungle. Upon our return to Caurea, I want to send messengers to every surviving village. The innocent must know to stay within their territory and never give one of these abominations a chance to attack. All Feykin must be reported to us for immediate extermination.”
“You would turn them into your pawns?” Zohara softly asks. She can taste the fairy magic in the air, but its corrosive nature burns her cracked lips. “What will you do if the dark ones are destroyed and only the good survive? Will you destroy those who mean you no harm? After seeing this, I still believe that genocide is not the answer.”
“We tried to handle your kind with understanding. This is the result,” the nearest knight states, spitting at the priestess’s feet. The other warriors laugh at the Feykin’s scowl, which remains when the man points his sword at her throat. “Be thankful that you will get a clean, painless death. I’m sure the other abominations will die in agony.”
Distracted by their work and Zohara, none of the cultists notice that Luke is moving one of his feet back and forth. He repeats the motion several times until he is sure that he is hitting an invisible tripwire. Placed at the mouth of the clean path, the forest tracker assumes that the only reason nobody set it off is because they approached the dead chimera from another direction. He finds there is enough space on one side to let a single person through, which explains why the knights and Zohara walking in a line never found the taut rope. He is still amazed that all of his captors have been lucky enough to avoid setting off whatever Sari has left behind. Stretching his arms over his head, the half-elf calmly kicks his leg and springs the trap.
The cultists draw their weapons when a branch materializes beneath the chimera’s head, the solid wood slipping out from under the creature. Beneath the beast sits a wooden statue of a demon that laughs wickedly and shudders at its imminent destruction. The corpse’s skull slams onto the idol and smashes it against the rock it has been placed on, steaming splinters pelting the nearest knights. A black mist billows out of the chimera’s mouth and a shadowy form forces the jaws open until the mandible snaps off from the body. With tentacles around its head and three pairs of clawed hands, the demon faces the warriors and devours the toothy body part. The monster screeches and leaps high over the cultists, but a geyser of steaming water drives it back to the rapidly rotting body.
“I will keep it pinned!” Gursel announces in a hissing voice. His bubbling body continues pouring the hot geyser into the demon, which is struggling to advance. “It is disoriented, so attack it now! Remove its limbs and then aim for its head!”
The knights charge in to hack at the creature, none of them finding it strange that the monster refuses to fight back with its full strength. It angrily lashes out to bat the closest warrior away, but the blow is only enough to stun or damage its victim’s armor. With a frustrating snarl, the demon spits bolts of wind at the Placid, the attacks passing harmlessly through the man’s liquid body. A confused whimper is the last noise the shadowy creature makes before attempting a few feeble steps to each side. Nobody bothers to follow its hungry gaze, the cultists too busy trying to survive long enough to destroy their target. If they had risked a glance, they would have witnessed their prisoners racing back up the hill, the delicious Feykin escaping from the obedient demon’s grasp.
*****
After hours of running and straining his senses, Luke can still hear the cultists getting closer as he drags Zohara through the jungle. They try their best to stay away from the river, but they constantly burst through a tight group of trees and skid to a stop at the shore. Every ripple and eddy makes them fear that Gursel will leap from the water and attack. For the third time since escaping, the forest tracker tries to transform into the griffin since the exhausted priestess is slowing them down. All that happens is a violent gurgling in his gut that ends with an echoing burp that leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. Luke is sure that the feast he was given at Caurea was laced with a poison that blocks a spirit channeler’s abilities, which also prevents him from using the snake fiend to cleanse his system. Glancing at his empty finger, he silently wishes he had hidden his Feast Ring somewhere on his body before he was captured. When Zohara trips over a root and yanks him to the ground, the half-elf accepts that it is only a matter of time before they are recaptured.
Focusing his sound sight, Luke searches for a place to make a stand in order to give Zohara and Isaiah time to escape. Brief glimpses of the knights and Gursel flicker into view, the cultists traveling along the winding river. A distant roar draws him to the west where the land gradually rises until they are high above the water. Branches slap at the trio, the trees getting short enough to leave red marks upon their faces and arms. Soon after the ground levels out, they find themselves at a bridge that all of them pray is more stable than it looks. Isaiah scampers across the ropes while Luke hurries Zohara along the swaying walkway, the forest tracker stopping on the far side.
“You two go ahead and I’ll hold them off,” the half-elf says while walking to the middle of the bridge. He glances over the side to see that the river turns into a waterfall, which makes a tumble infinitely more lethal. “Don’t worry about me. I might not have my sabers, but I’ve been trained in martial arts.”
“When was the last time you used those skills?” Isaiah asks from the branches.
“All the time,” Luke replies, glaring at the monkey. Vaguely remembering a lesson on adapting to the environment, he rocks the bridge to get used to its movements and the dizzying height. “Though I usually have my weapons with me. Stop standing there and run. Gursel and his warriors are going to be here any minute. With any luck, I’ll win and catch up to both of you. If not then head for Rhundar and try to get a message to Nyx. No matter what, do not go into the city or contact Sari and Delvin.”
“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Zohara says with a bow.
The priestess races into the jungle and quickly loses track of the fleet-footed monkey. She attempts to backtrack along the edge of the cliff and stops when she gets a clear view of the bridge. Gursel is on the other side while his knights challenge Luke, the armored figures using daggers to avoid cutting the ropes by accident. The half-elf drives the cultists back with a surprise kick, following up with a sweep that knocks one of his enemies off the swaying walkway. Grabbing the side of the bridge, the nimble champion flips over and around to avoid an attack. Luke slams his feet into the woman’s knees, but she manages to cling to the edge of the wooden planks. The others give her space to get back up, surprised that their enemy does not try to escape or finish the vulnerable knight off.
Being so far away, Zohara is the only one who sees Gursel step off the cliff and plummet toward the river. His body disappears into the cascading waterfall, which slows to a point where it is almost still. The Placid’s silhouette can be seen within the frozen current, but the figure is too distorted for the Feykin to discern what he is doing. Luke is still focused on battling the knights, knocking two enemies off the bridge, so he is unaware of the danger coming from below. Looming out of the foamy water, a pair of liquid hands catch the falling cultists and place them on a lower cliff where they will be safe. With a loud sucking noise, the waterfall bunches itself into a ball and violently churns, which finally catches the half-elf’s attention.
It is a whirlwind of action that the nervous priestess can barely follow. With an explosive roar, the waterfall erupts toward the bridge and envelopes all of the warriors. Zohara’s heart sinks when she sees the knights calmly walk to solid ground, their bodies protected by pockets of calm. Luke is trapped on the top of the geyser where foamy fists pummel him from every direction. After several minutes of punishment, Gursel rises from the roiling water and grabs the half-elf by the face. The Placid’s body flows into the forest tracker’s mouth and nose, filling his lungs until he passes out. With their prisoner recaptured, the river is returned to its normal state and the cultists gather on the far side of the cliff. Thick chains are wrapped around Luke, who is callously dropped to the ground and dragged behind his captors.
Charms of the Feykin Page 24
