Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (21 page)

“Take your sword in case you run into the Felcri,” Timoran states in a cold voice. He pulls a rag out of his pocket and cleans the blood off his great axe. “If I ever run into you again, Sentrent, it will be by accident and you will have found a real life. I am sure there is a place for you, but I can tell you that it is not within the tribe that I hold dear or on the battlefield that I honor.”

“Thank you, Sir Wrath,” the man says, scrambling to his feet and grabbing his weapon. Hurrying into the tunnel behind him, Sentrent stops and turns to face the other barbarian. “If it means anything to you, I hope you find peace someday. With the blessing of Kerr, I’m sure it will be within the Snow Tiger Tribe.”

Timoran watches Sentrent disappear into the shadows and sighs when he realizes that he has bodies to dispose of. Sheathing his weapon, he goes about throwing the remains into the sewage and watching them drift into the distance. The sound of a rustling cape makes him pause while he still has the head of Alanik in his hands. He turns to see a black-haired man in ebony platemail, an aura of power filling the tunnel.

“I was wondering what you would do here,” Gabriel admits as he approaches Timoran. A low whistle slips from the god’s mouth and Alanik’s head turns into a pile of sand. “I was highly entertained. Did you learn a lesson from this?”

“My past is out there and will forever haunt me until I face it.”

“That sounds good enough. It is your sharp mind and pure wisdom that makes you one of my greatest creations,” the god says with a wide smile that sends a chill down the mortal’s spine. “Keep that in mind when you return to Stonehelm. You will be going home before your trials are done, Timoran Wrath. I guarantee it and look forward to your trials.”

Gabriel vanishes in a puff of black smoke, leaving the barbarian to think about the ominous promise. Looking at the splatters of blood and a few scraps bone left on the ground, Timoran prays that his return home will not be for a very long time.

*****

Luke inches along the wall, keeping an ear out for sounds of movement. The squish of rotten filth beneath his boots has become part of the background as he cautiously makes his way through the maze of lower tunnels. He senses something larger than a rat, the form created by his sound sight of a man with a curved sword. This is the fourth time in the last hour he has found Asher, which gives him some relief and frustration. Luke is happy that the nobleman is still alive, but he wishes his senses would stop focusing on him. As it stands, he is no longer sure where Delvin or the Felcri are since their last encounter. It has been a challenging hunt with repeated ambushes that the three warriors have barely managed to survive. Every time one of them has been attacked, the others rush to the rescue and drive the Felcri away.

Turning a corner, Luke sees the glint of chainmail in a narrow beam of light that comes from a pulsing orb in the wall. He thinks it is Asher again until he sees the round buckler on the figure’s arm. Quietly moving through the muck to Delvin, he clears his throat to get his friend’s attention. With a roll of his eyes, he bats the dirt-covered longsword out of his face. The dim light makes both warriors appear filthier and more exhausted than they actually are. Luke notices the wound above his friend’s eye is still seeping, which brings his attention to the burning cut along his own ribs. He sticks a finger through the gash in his leather armor patch, feeling to see if the injury is still bleeding.

“How are you doing?” Delvin whispers, wiping the blood out of his eye.

“Still bleeding, but it won’t slow me down too much,” Luke replies, gesturing for the other warrior to follow him. He pinpoints Asher’s location and guesses as to the quickest way to the noble. “Asher is moving around somewhere, but I have no idea where the Felcri went. Maybe it’s full from eating all those mercenaries.”

“I don’t think it had time to eat any of them,” Delvin says, checking around a corner while Luke casually steps into the open. “There was something strange about the last fight. The Felcri came in fierce, but it ran away once one of us hurt it. It’s possible that it’s no longer invulnerable, so now it’s scared.”

Luke nods and goes over the encounter in his mind, every detail crisp and clear. “It definitely came in without a care when it took that first mercenary out. It’s a shame that she survived falling into the water only to get killed in the next encounter. Though I think she managed to hurt it too because the Felcri had a brief moment of confusion before we gathered our wits. It’s possible that the monsters being sent after the Grasdons are imperfect and their invulnerability is unstable. They never know when they’ll be susceptible to damage again, but it does happen. Maybe we can capture it alive and Fizzle can get a look at it.”

“He might even be able to talk to the Felcri.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure Wayland would have it killed on sight.”

“The man does seem pretty stressed and irrational,” Delvin replies with a wry smile. He gently punches Luke in the shoulder and stifles his laughter. “That’s your future father-in-law. You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

“Can we not get into this conversation right now?” the half-elf requests through clenched teeth. “We’re hunting a deadly beast here.”

“I was only teasing and trying to lighten the mood,” the other swordsman replies with a tired sigh. “I guess there’s always the chance that you’ll marry Sari instead. You’re right. This isn’t something I want to talk about. It’ll only make me worry more about Nyx and continue hating you for having both of your loves around.”

“Hate me?”

“Maybe too strong a term, but I’ve definitely had moments of wanting to punch you the last few days.”

Luke turns to stare his friend in the eye, noticing that the man is not entirely joking. “I’m miserable because I’m going to have to hurt someone I love. You’re miserable because the woman you love is missing. I’d trade positions with you only because I know you’re problem will have a happy ending.”

“How can you be so sure?” Delvin asks, walking around the half-elf. He slashes at a nearby shadow when it comes, terrifying a group of rats that rush into a nearby hole. “We don’t know where Nyx is or what’s happened to her. She could be kidnapped by the nomads or in Stephen’s hands.”

“She’s with Dariana, so I doubt Stephen will have her. Even if she’s not really on our side, she obviously doesn’t like her brother,” the forest tracker explains, hurrying to take the lead again. He risks using Stiletto’s sense of smell, stopping immediately when his stomach lurches from the stench. “As for the nomads, I hope they don’t have Nyx. I’m having trouble thinking of anyone who has benefited from capturing her. It tends to end with her unleashing devastation on the area. So stop worrying about your extremely powerful, unrequited love and figure out how to get into that desert. Preferably without an elephant even though that was hilarious.”

“It’s not like I can go out the front door,” the brown-haired warrior scoffs, scratching his head with his knuckles. He groans at the feel of sewage dripping from the tip of his sword onto his hair. “This is truly disgusting. I’ve been in sewers and swamps before, but this place is a maze of ladders, tunnels, and filth.”

The warriors come to a room that resembles a giant bowl, the sides slick with slime and the bottom covered in a foot of stagnant water. A grate in the ceiling has rusted out and the remaining mesh is dangling in the shaft of sunlight. Squirming forms move in the water as Luke and Delvin struggle to make their way to the other side without falling into the pool. They sheath their weapons, freeing their hands to crawl along the slick surface. With every move, the warriors slide closer to the bottom and the mysterious creatures get more agitated. A fanged eel erupts from the water when Delvin slips within reach of the creature. He feels its sharp teeth pierce his boot and foot, but cannot draw his sword to fight back. The other eels hungrily gather in anticipation of him falling in, the slimy beasts roiling into a frenzy. An echoing, roaring screech scares the predators into retreating to the bottom of the pool, the surface becoming calm and serene.

“Please tell me that was you,” Delvin whispers to Luke as he climbs toward his friend.

“Nope,” the half-elf says, nodding his head to the wall on the other side of the pool. “The Felcri seems to be able to move without making a sound, including a heartbeat. I think it’s been in here the entire time.”

The warriors turn around, grinding their feet into the slime until they feel solid ground and can awkwardly stand. They draw their blades as they watch the green-scaled beast, its body a shade lighter than the dark walls. The Felcri slowly climbs down to the sloped floor and crouches among the filth. Its white eyes dart from Delvin’s longsword to Luke’s sabers, the deadly blades making the vulnerable creature nervous. With a threatening hiss, the Felcri fires its long tongue at the armored champion and yanks it back before it can be chopped off.

“I don’t think it knows we’re at a disadvantage,” Luke whispers, pointing his sabers at the monster. He stops when it whimpers and backs against the wall. “This thing is terrified now that it knows we can hurt it. What use is a summoned creature that gets scared? Seems like a waste of training or magic or whatever it is that made it.”

“We’re obviously missing something,” Delvin states as he takes a step to his right. The Felcri watches him and beats the ground in an attempt to ward him off. “It doesn’t want to fight us. All that aggression is gone. If I hadn’t seen this thing fight before, I’d never believe it could be so vicious. Maybe we can take it alive and learn more about the nomad’s monsters. Wayland can choke on his favorite ring for all I care. Uh, don’t tell Kira and Asher I said that.”

“Deal. Circle that way and we’ll see what it does.”

With a snarl, the Felcri turns its scaly head toward one of the nearby tunnels and prepares to pounce. It sniffs the air and hungrily licks its face as if a delicious meal has been laid out, the aroma reviving its courage. The creature glances at Luke and Delvin, a brief expression of confusion on its face. Primal aggression returns to its eyes when it hears echoing footsteps and Asher wanders into the chamber.

“You have it cornered,” the nobleman says while taking a step into the bowl.

“Not good,” Delvin mutters, shuffling his feet through the slime. He falls to his hands and knees, sliding near the pool where the eels are roiling the water in anticipation. Rolling onto his back, the warrior beheads the first beast that erupts from the pool, but the others refuse to calm down.

Everything is a blur of motion when Asher slips and falls on his face, his scimitar skidding out of his reach. The Felcri pounces only to be slammed in the side by Luke who is sprouting feathers from his body. Surprised by the attack, the monster shoves him away and screeches when its arm is sliced off by the half-elf’s saber. Enraged and startled by the pain, the Felcri roars at its attacker and charges. It is within reach when the young warrior finishes transforming into the griffin and bats the creature away with her wings. The beasts circle each other while Delvin makes his way to Asher and helps him crawl back into the tunnel.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” the nobleman says, his eyes locked on the winged beast. He watches her struggle to maneuver in the tight quarters, her wings repeatedly coming close to hitting the walls. “Is that Luke?”

“We’ll explain on the walk back,” Delvin whispers as he goes back for the scimitar. He drops to the ground when the Felcri is sent flying toward him, the beast’s thrashing tail grazing his back. “Watch where you’re throwing him, Lucy. We’re not in an open space like you’re used to in that form.”

With a burst of wind that shakes the room, the griffin darts at the Felcri so quickly that it takes a second for the warriors to realize what has happened. Her beak pierces the scaly hide of the other creature and she cracks its sternum in half before she is kicked away. A gash on her front leg makes her hobble through the muck, but she gracelessly leaps across the room to maul the Felcri’s face. Rearing back on her hind legs, the griffin snaps forward to drive her beak into its enemy’s skull. She opens her mouth to splinter the bone and delivers a few solid strikes to the exposed brain. The Felcri drops dead at her feet and she lifts it by the neck, callously tossing it into the pool where the fanged eels devour the corpse.

11

Dariana falls to her knees while covering her ears, but the deafening scream continues at full volume. The nomads watch as she collapses on the cooling sand and spasms for a minute, most of them fearing that the foreigner is possessed or diseased. Only a small boy is willing to get near her and offer one of his figs, which she takes with a shaky hand. The child lies on his side next to Dariana and makes faces at her in the hopes of making her feel better. She does her best to laugh and return the silly expressions, but the pain is too much for her to concentrate. To her surprise, the black-haired boy crawls closer to lift her hand off her head and whisper gibberish in her ear, an incomprehensible joke that makes him laugh. The mental scream cuts off and is replaced by faint whimpering, the voice now clearly that of Sharne.

“Thank you,” Dariana says to the boy as she stands. “What’s your name?”

“I’m three!”

“Okay . . . Three.”

The confused woman gently rubs her aching ears, feeling a few dribbles of blood seep onto her cheek. The nomads are busy preparing food for tomorrow’s journey and repairing any tents that were damaged by a brief sandstorm. Her head is still fuzzy as she walks to the large central tent of beautiful, ivory cloth that shimmers in Tavon’s blue moonlight. Armed guards stand at attention at the entrance and they point their spears at Dariana. As if someone has ordered them to stand down, they shift back to their original position and obediently stare ahead. Keeping her eyes on the warriors, she steps into the tent and quickly seals the flap when she sees the carnage around her.

A low table has been overturned and the hammock that Sharne sleeps in is still wildly swinging in a breeze that does not exist. Pillows appear to have been burrowed into by animals and their stuffing is strewn across the rugs. Splotches of dark green ooze are on the walls and they drip to the floor in the form of long feathers. It takes Dariana a few minutes to find Sharne curled beneath a pile of quilts, only her bare foot visible from the correct angle. The woman is barely conscious as she is carried to the middle of the tent and gently laid on a long pillow that has survived the destruction.

“What happened here?” Dariana asks, snapping her fingers at the hammock. The hanging bed stops and dangles limply from the supporting beams. “It looks like someone tried to attack you, but the guards did nothing. Although, I see aura residue on the walls, which means your attacker was not normal.”

“There was no attacker so to speak,” Sharne whispers, pushing herself into a sitting position. Shining aura streaks her face, which she wipes away with a nearby cloth. “As the Palqua, I am connected to the scepter and the beasts inside. We share an essence, which is why I know they are in Bor’daruk.”

“Did something happen to them?” Dariana asks as she pours a cup of water for the holy woman. “I can share your pain if need be.”

“You’re kind, but too quick to offer help,” the other woman responds while sipping at the cool drink. Her face is covered in scratches, especially her cheeks and neck. “Another of the beasts has been killed, which means the great monster within is closer to being free. Due to my connection, the death makes me feel like my very core is being torn apart. It is something I never expected because no other Palqua has had to suffer in such a fashion. So thank you for offering help, but this is my burden.”

“I heard you screaming in my head. Please do not hesitate to seek me out for support if it happens again.”

Dariana flips to her feet and wanders around the tent to clean the aura residue off the walls with steady waves of her hand. She collects the glowing slime in her arms and tries to turn it into a ball, but it takes the form of a griffin sitting on its haunches. A flash of Luke passes through her mind and she drops the aura, letting it splatter across the floor and onto her feet. Her throat dry, the startled woman grabs another glass and greedily drinks several cups of water from a barrel in the corner.

“I see,” Sharne says as she finds the strength to stand. The puddle of aura flows toward her and disappears within her shadow, giving her dark skin a healthier shine. “The griffin that killed the guardian was one of your friends. I sensed something different about her when she attacked and touched my mind. It would appear she is being manipulated into freeing the horror of the scepter. We can assume your other friends are involved too. From the stories you and Nyx have told me, I’m sure they’re unaware of the danger.”

“Then explain it to me,” Dariana says, bowing to the holy woman. She falls to one knee and puts her hands out with her palms facing the ceiling. “Nyx and I have not pushed for information on the scepter. She has taken to using your library to do research, but I know there are some things that only you would know. Please tell me so that I may warn my friends as soon as they’re within the range of my powers.”

With a flourish of her green skirt, Sharne turns her back on Dariana and stares at a paper lantern. The candle flickers behind the white covering and sparks float out of the bottom. They circle the holy woman, steadily becoming a swarm of lights that blocks her from view. Whispers fill the air and Dariana senses that she is being observed by unseen eyes. The touch of invisible hands lingers on the edge of her awareness, disappearing whenever she attempts to focus on the sensation. Her heart stutters when a skeletal figure steps out of the sparks and extends a boney hand to her. Trusting the holy woman, she grips the creature’s fingers and is drawn into the shimmering cyclone.

No longer in the tent, Dariana finds herself next to Sharne and surrounded by a council of aura-coated skeletons. The ghostly beings stand in a circle around them, nothing else but pristine dunes extending in every direction. All but one of the eerie figures are clothed in beautiful robes that are similar to the billowing ones of the Helgardians. The shortest skeleton stands upon a small dune, wearing the crimson and sapphire robes of a Celvaryn priest. Sparks and tiny pieces of hail sputter from the wand emblem etched into the creature’s wide forehead. Wisps of hair are on its head, a few of them catching fire and burning down to the skull. The odd display gets more chaotic as the figure hops off the dune and marches toward the two women.

“Don’t be scared, Dariana,” Sharne whispers with a pleasant smile. “These are the former Palqua of my tribe. I don’t know their living names, but they have all held my position. They will show you what you wish to know.”

“This is not the one we wished to see!” the skeleton declares in a high-pitched, feminine voice. The Wild Magic Goddess’s symbol explodes in a shower of fire and ice, threatening to harm the living women. “I thought you were bringing the other champion. We can already sense her presence and demand she be brought to us.”

“And I told you that Nyx is not interested in meeting you,” the proud nomad argues to Dariana’s surprise. “I made the offer and she refused. This is another champion who wishes to know about the Beast of Palqua.”

The short skeleton stomps her foot in the sand and turns to face the others. Chattering teeth communicate with chaotic changes in the speed and volume of their noise. It is clear that the council is debating, but Dariana cannot decipher the discussion. She attempts to scan the mind of the short skeleton, but is immediately fed the images of an ogre devouring her face. The vivid vision snaps her back to her own mind and she finds the council staring at her with a renewed sense of curiosity.

“You’re the one we never saved,” the skeletal priestess whispers, getting closer to the silver-haired champion. She touches the woman’s belly and shies away, spitting at the shifting ground and bowing. “You are the crossing of purity and evil. An abomination of necessity that my allies and I chose to ignore in exchange for my bold idea.”

“You were a champion,” Dariana whispers in disbelief.

“I was the most powerful and the greatest failure of our kind.”

“Then please tell me about the scepter.”

“It is not your place to know.”

“I’m a champion, so it is my knowledge to have!”

“Not the right one.”

Sharne clears her throat for attention and bows to the robed skeleton, her hair touching the sand. “I apologize for this and will try to convince Nyx to meet with you. I’m sure we can figure something out. Dariana will help us.”

“Go back to your minds and let me handle the channeler when the time is right,” the skeleton says, turning its back on the women. It tucks its hands into its sleeves and floats back onto the small dune. “It is inevitable that the scepter will fall into this champion’s hands after all the guardians have been dispatched. Once that happens, bring her to Helgard before my creation awakens. Only then can the total destruction of the desert, and possibly all of Ralian, be avoided.”

“So the Beast of Palqua can only be contained within the temple?” Dariana politely asks. All of the skeletons laugh and the short one appears in front of her face. “I was under the impression that this beast would burn the desert if set free. Why do you find my question laughable?”

“Oh, my creation will cause great damage, but it is not the true threat,” the undead priestess whispers, grinning a lipless smile. “The channeler may pose even more danger to Windemere. Imagine what would happen if she learned the truth behind the beast. Her people are prone to fits of god-like rage when their own kind has been harmed. We will have to contend with two beasts of magic so powerful that the gods themselves might be forced to get involved.”

“I will talk to-” the silver-haired woman starts before she freezes. Her mind is blank and she collapses into Sharne’s arms, the holy woman nodding at the skeleton.

“I am glad to see she does not remember her first encounter with me,” the boney phantom says with a relaxed sigh. “She is not to know the truth behind my creation. I shall remove your power if you betray my trust, Palqua.”

“I swear, milady, that this will be our secret.”

The sands swirl around the two women and the skeletons disappear into the storm, replaced by the walls of the tent. Sharne drags the unconscious champion to the hammock and struggles to put her inside. She frowns at the sight of dirty boots in her favorite bed, but she can only imagine the amount of sand that would fall out if she removed them. With a tired sigh, she goes about cleaning her tent, always keeping a watchful eye on Dariana’s thoughts.

*****

“I’m sorry I woke you up with something you can’t help me with. I didn’t know you had a rough day, mom, or that you were doing paperwork, dad. Though I’m pretty sure that means you were drinking or napping,” Nyx says with her head pressed against the tabletop. She rubs her amethyst necklace, the gem glowing in her hand. “I’m not being a smartass or whatever it is you called me in Draconic. Don’t yell at him, mom, because you called me an idiot ten times yesterday when I checked in with you. Yes, charging a Spurge should only be done if my brain has been replaced with a bowl of cold oatmeal. I’m not taking a tone with her! You fight with her all the time, dad. Technically, you two still aren’t married, so that excuse doesn’t work. Okay, okay, okay! I’m sorry I took that shot and I’ll never say it again. What do you mean you’ve been discussing a real date? Have you two been talking without me? Yes, I know you’re adults and I made these necklaces to let any combination of us talk. I just thought I should be included in something that big. At least before you get that far along. You two aren’t any easier to get in touch with than me! Not my fault I have to save the world. No, I’m not trying to exaggerate my purpose to guilt trip you, mom. I hear you laughing, dad! Luke’s still alive, Sari’s not in jail, Timoran is still Timoran, and Delvin . . . No . . . I don’t . . . It isn’t like that . . . I’d never . . . I’ve got to go and finish my research. Love you both. Night.”

Nyx softly bangs her head on the table, sending glittering sparks into the air with every impact. She stops when a delicious scent strikes her nose and her stomach rumbles. The realization that she has not eaten since lunch makes her hunger even worse, so she happily turns her head to face Misrae as he enters the small tent. The smiling Tribe King places a large plate of skewered mutton in front of the caster who snatches a piece before he removes his hand. The mug of cold water he offers her is sloppily drained and she wipes her mouth on the sleeve of her yellow shirt, earning a grimace of disappointment from her host.

“You’re not much on manners, Lady Nyx,” Misrae politely says as he takes a seat at the circular table. He looks at the six neatly organized bookshelves that sit within the tent. “It appears you cleaned up our library and sorted everything. I see category labels too. Thank you for taking the time.”

“The mess was driving me crazy,” the half-elf mumbles with a mouthful of juicy food. A stern glance from the dark-skinned man makes her swallow the mutton and bow her head. “I’m sorry for the rudeness. I was starving and frustrated. Thank you for bringing me some dinner again. I promise I’ll pay attention to the time and my stomach tomorrow. After all, you don’t have to watch over me, Misrae.”

“I still feel sorry for how I treated you during our first encounter,” he states, cautiously taking a piece of meat from the plate. “It was disrespectful to the woman who may be able to bring my tribe to our ancestral home. That is why I have accepted the responsibility of making sure you are comfortable. At the very least, fed, bathed, and rested.”

“I’d appreciate it if you don’t try to take that second item into your own hands. Though I guess I do need to wash up since we’re near a pond. I’ll take Dariana with me.”