The Restless Shore (22 page)

“No,” she muttered, raising her sword and forgetting the conflict in the next room, shaking her head in denial of the singer’s words.

Before she could contemplate plunging the blade over and over into Sefir’s body until she found some vital bit of flesh, inflicted some injury he could not recover from, she saw a swift blur in the corner of her eye. A whisper of shadow hurtled toward the singer with flashing steel and murderous intent. Briefly she saw the Dale face of Brindani

as he collided with Sefir in a tangle of limbs, fleshy tentacles, and clashing swords. The pair strained on the edge of the basement steps in a duel of wills, before they plummeted into the darkness and splashing water.

Ghaelya hesitated, her blade still trained on the spot where Sefir had stood, her eyes fixed on the darkened basement door. Sparks still smoldered where she had cut her hand, and she considered Tessaeril and a purpose greater than simple revenge. She turned toward the common room, catching the glittering eye of an embattled dreamer, and rushed into the room, a gusting flame rippling through her body toward the pyre of battle and escape from Caidris.

***********

Brindani tumbled end over end, a seeming infinity of stairs pounding into his back. Tentacles writhed around him, wrapped around his arms, and slapped wetly against Ms face, all amid the horrid roaring of a fiendish voice that echoed in his ears like a smithy’s hammer. Flashes of blue light illuminated the nightmarish fall, creating monstrous shadows all around that he knew, without a doubt, were all too real. Though patches of numbed flesh announced the imminent arrival of painful bruises, he was somehow assured by a faint and singing melody that gave him strength and the willto keep fighting.

At the end of the long fall, the pair splashed into the dark waters of the flooded basement, wrestling for dominance. Sefir’s efforts doubled as the shock of cold water further numbed Brindani’s muscles, leaving the half-elf slow against the fluid form of the mutilated man.

The once demonic voice of Sefir was transformed as they plunged beneath the water’s surface. A wordless, calming melody issued from the open jaws and rows of sharklike teeth, the hellish image belying the sublime beauty of the

singing in Brindani’s ears. Long, crooning notes reached out like living things, like the curling tentacles, to wrap around his anger and regret, crushing them both in a soft grip that drew painful knots in his throat and pulled tears from his eyes. The sword fell from his weakened hand, and his struggles faded to feeble motions. The small part of him that realized what was happening was unable to gather the strength needed to continue the fight.

The painful grip on his arms and legs softened as he was lifted from the water, coughing and gasping for air, held tight, though cradled in Sefir’s terrible grasp. He could still distantly feel the knot of constant pain in his stomach, could still recall his body’s many cries for the silkroot drug, the need that had been his trap for so long, but it too was weaker. Only for that could he be grateful.

“You have been so brave, half-elf,” Sefir crooned in his ear, his sweet breath complementing the honeyed power of his voice. “All this time, it was you who led the dreamers. Though you remained unaware, we knew of you and thanked the Lady for leading you to the girl.”

“No,” Brindani managed to whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, I know,” Sefir replied, tilting his scarred features in a strange expression that seemed a mockery of true empathy. “We are like brothers, you and I. Two souls drifting in an ocean of fate… and song.”

The very notion that he had anything in common with the hideous man created a fresh surge of resistance in the half-elf, though it was still far too weak to break Sefir’s strength. His limbs felt paralyzed, and he shivered, drenched and trembling in the cool air.

“I shall give to you a gift… A gift that she bade me give to you,” Sefir continued. Thin tentacles curled from beneath his dark and dirty robes, drawing forth a red and pulsing bloom of horrible beautv. SuDDle Detain of crimson

flesh hung before Brindani’s eyes, tiny veins racing through the flower, bloodlike nectar gathering in little drops like morning dew as it descended toward his lips. “I shall bring back to you our Lady’s song, a blessing for those who know her will.”

The petals rested against the half-elf 8 lips, a sweet, crimson kiss that tasted faintly of blood as the nectar flowed into his mouth, across his tongue, and sang down his throat. Briefly, he gagged, trying to spit out the flower, but within a heartbeat the pain in his stomach had lessened, as had his ever-present need for the silkroot. He cursed inwardly as he bit into the bloom hungrily, as Sefir whispered songs in his ear.

“The Song calls us The Choir brings us The Lady dreams us And her blood feeds us”

***************.

Ghaelya roared with the flames in her blood, as she slashed and dodged the remaining dreamers. An expression of trailing fire curled from her scalp like a mane, and the world before her seemed naught but kindling. The beasts were smart, keeping them from the door, destroying the old steps leading upstairs with deafening blasts of thunder from their thick throats.

The walls shook as she fought back to back with Vaasurri, holding a turning circle of sharp edges one moment, then flying apart to divide the four beasts. She kept her strikes precise and painful, careful to take no unnecessary chances, every thought focused on escaping Caidris and finding Tohrepur, finding Tessaeril. Though she held back from more dangerous maneuvers, her patience was wearing thin, and she looked constantly toward the dark doorway to

the kitchen, wondering when Sefir would return. She tried to ignore the thought that she had seen the last of Brindani, brave fool that he was.

Flashing eyes and gaping jaws leaped for her, and she sidestepped, spinning and flaying the jowls of a second dreamer as the first found Vaasurri’s bone-sword waiting to end its bounding assault. Long claws raked her leg, and she winced slightly, accepting the minor wound in order to gain position for a deeper cut. Her sword fell like’a bolt of steel-blue lightning, slicing the thing’s throat. Its long, gurgling whine tingled down her back as she abandoned it to its death throes and made for the door once again.

The remaining three howled in unison as if reacting to the death of their packmate. The mournful cry tore at her nerves, aching deep in her bones, and slowed her stride. The cry was followed by yet another deafening roar, and she flinched as a large object blurred through her field of vision. Vaasurri, limp and silent, flew through the doorway and slid in the mud, motionless in the light rain outside. Before she could run to his side, the third dreamer leaped through the open window and prowled over to the groaning killoren.

The other two quickly cut her off, and she backed warily away. Their blank stares chilled the fire in her blood and made all too evident the sound of wet flesh sliding across old wood behind her. The sound rekindled her burning bloodlust, and she charged the beasts. Grasping claws reached for her legs as she jumped. She turned in the air to blind one of the dreamers and, landing in a crouch, hacked at the hamstring of the other.

As she backed toward the door, the beasts’ piercing howls of pain were outmatched only by the ominous growl that thrummed warmly on the back of her legs. Instinctively she kicked, spinning and slipping on a patch of wet floor, her boot connecting awkwardlv with the third drpnmor’a

jaw. Trapped again, she began to backpedal, but flinched as a warm spray of foul blood splashed across her legs. A thrown axe was buried in the third dreamer’s side, and it whimpered pitifully, snapping at the weapon as Uthalion sprang into view, hacking swiftly and finishing the wounded creature.

Rolling past the human and his opponent, she felt the first drop of rain on her skin, a cool water singing through her spirit, cooling her fire. She stood protectively over Vaasurri as he gathered his wits and searched in the mud for his dropped weapon.

Uthalion backed away from the dead dreamer as the other two limped into view from the house. The human looked from her to the killoren, nodding once before raising his sword to the beasts.

“Where’s Brindani?” he asked over his shoulder, though the end of his question was cut off by a shrill, discordant scream of agony.

The entire house shook, a section of roof collapsing in a cloud of dust as the dreamers made a hasty escape, limping and whining through the tall grass. Uthalion fell to his knees, covering his ears as painful echoes reverberated through the air, a rippling tide of thick sound.

Ghaelya withstood the assault, forcing herself to remain standing as a tall figure appeared in the doorway. His silhouette writhed with movement as squirming tentacles grasped the edges of the entrance. Dark robes dripped with water and blood as Sefir sighed, his wide mouth smiling as rain streamed across his twisted features, dark rivers pouring through the long wound she’d given him from chin to forehead.

“Brindani is in there,” she answered under her breath and tried not to imagine the half-elf s horrible end as Sefir fixed his remaining eye upon her.

-Ž- -Ž-

Pale blue light illuminated the rafters slowly spinning above Brindani as he Opened his eyes. It was as if he awoke from a deep sleep full of dimly recalled nightmares. With his arms outstretched and his boots resting lightly on the floor, he floated in the chill waters of the flooded basement and tried to sort through the mixture of sensations that flowed through his body and mind. -

The various pains of his injuries seemed distant and unimportant, minor details compared to the icy ache in his stomach, the bittersweet taste that filled his mouth, and the strange sense of calm in his arms and legs. His hands did not tremble as he raised them to rub at his eyes and splash water across his face. His legs did not falter as he slid his weight forward and slowly stood upright, studying the walls of the basement as if seeing them for the first time. Though his half-elf eyesight had always served him well in dim light, he had never before seen such intricate detail, even in the deep shadows of the chamber’s far corners. Amazed, he caught a glimpse of his own sword beneath the water’s surface and picked it up, marveling at the flash of wet steel before returning it to its sheath.

As if in a trance or a dream, he placed his hands over his stomach, and though a strange need still tugged at the back of his mind, it seemed to have little to do with the silkroot and his addiction. A pang of nausea gripped him as he recalled the bloody flower and his own unbidden hunger as he had devoured each fleshy petal, but it passed quickly as a soft gust of air hummed across his delicately pointed ears.

The faint strains of a familiar melody filled his mind, long chiming notes accompanied by a female voice. The song had indeed returned to him as Sefir had said, a pleasant summoning that, he miild Tint. Henv HiniitrH it AiA nŤ+

command. He followed it to the bottom of the stairs, curious as to the strange will that urged him onward. The singing intensified at the top of the stairs, and he remembered his previous sense of urgency, the anger, pain, and bloodlust that had driven him to attack a member of the mysterious Choir.

A part of him recoiled at the blasphemous thought, but he forced it away, confused by his sudden disgust.

Sounds of battle drew him through the kitchen, and he peered into the gloom outside. Ghaelya and Uthalion battled against Sefir, though their struggles seemed awkward and stilted as the singer batted away their clumsy blades with an inhuman quickness, assaulting them with his powerful voice. His nearly boneless body twisted unnaturally, long whiplike tentacles sprouting from his pale-blue flesh—a monster seemingly more suited to water than land.

Brindani instinctively assumed a stealthy crouch and crept slowly toward the singer’s back, pausing briefly to squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head, conflicted by a sudden sense of fear. Sefir’s voice rang like a hammer against his skull, like the voice of a god warning him to stay his traitorous blade. But the beguiling song on the air grew stronger at the sight of Ghaelya, banishing his doubt.

The genasi spun and dodged, almost dancing to the rhythm of the song in his mind. He swayed to the sound of it, studying the writhing form of Sefir, somehow knowing when and where to strike, what he should wait for, but not understanding why. Gooseflesh rose painfully on his arms and neck in the singer’s presence, though he paid it no mind; the sweet scent of the red bloom cleared his mind of all but the task at hand.

He followed Ghaelya’s feints and lunges. The music built toward a crescendo, a swift momentum that could not last, ringing like a thousand arcs of lightning through his brain until a flash of steel called his sword to strike. Their swords

scraped against one another as they pierced Sefir’s chest, one from the front and the other from the back, buried in the singer’s left lung.

Sefir spun around in shock as they withdrew their swords, hissing through his fang-filled maw. His rising voice, ruined by a gurgling cough of sweet blood, was no more powerful than a babbling brook. The singer fell to one knee, spitting blood as Ghaelya and Uthalion fell upon him, viciously bashing him down as Brindani stepped back, shaking his head in horror despite the sense of victory that stole over him.

He shivered as the song faded, leaving him alone and frightened by his conflicting emotions. Terrified, he spat the sweet taste of the red flower from his mouth, and he wondered what it had done to him even as he absently scratched an itching patch of skin on the back of his neck.

10 Mirtul, The Year of the Ageless One

(1479 DR) Caidris, Akanftl

wain dripped into Ghaelya’s eyes as whistling wind cooled her skin to a color of watery seafoam. Thunder pounded in time to her bloody fists as she hammered the twitching body of Sefir. His pale skin was tough and rubbery, covered in a network of long arcing veins that pulsed weakly as she bruised her knuckles and took grim satisfaction in the monster’s gasping breaths. His roping tentacles, once so strong and constricting, wrapped feebly around her wrists and flopped against her legs as she knelt in the mud at his side.