Stalking the Beast
Page 23
"Yes."
"What about our fight at the fey court?"
"What of it?"
"Think back. Did Calvonis and Illidian want blood shed there as well?"
"They must have."
"But there we were winning. And I daresay that we would have won but for one thing."
Aladel mulled that over only for a moment, and when he supplied his answer, his eyebrows were lowered in worry. "The Oakstewards."
"They're the ones who stopped the fight, not Illidian. He's innocent, I'm sure of it."
"But the Oakstewards revere the natural order. They'd no sooner betray it for Razmir than—"
"Than a captain of the Kyonin border patrol?" Elyana cut in. A coldness crept through her. She pulled the map from her satchel and unfolded it quickly.
"What's that?"
"The map Calvonis kept of all his attacks."
She turned it the proper side up, then cursed at her foolishness. "Damn. Why didn't I see this?" She tapped at a marking on the paper.
"Is that our location?"
"It is. If Calvonis is just a loan loon tracking his kills, he could have sat in the tree and made notes on this paper while he sent his beast to the camp to assault us—but that seems too crazy even for him. Which means this mark was here already." She looked up. "The druids are in on it."
"What?" Aladel looked shocked.
"You just implied that this is some kind of huge ritual. Well, that means everything has to happen in a certain way. At a certain place, right? So these points—all save the battle with the fey, which you'll note isn't written in—had to be predetermined."
The color drained from Aladel's face. "Surely...surely the druids aren't involved. What about the attack last night?"
"All it would take is one traitor. The one who receives word that we're interfering with the fey and stops us from finishing off the monster. The one who suggests this place to transport us and survives the monster's next attack. The one who just waved in a half-dozen reinforcements."
Aladel made the name a curse. "Kilvor."
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Seventeen
Changing Times
Drelm
Drelm didn't know why Elyana and Aladel walked so far from the camp, but it was not his place to question Elyana's actions, especially after he'd let her down so profoundly. Grellen had something in the stewpot by then, and it smelled very good, but he didn't really feel like he deserved to eat anything, so he wandered over to where Cyrelle sat with her dogs.
Drelm liked dogs. A well-trained dog was even better than a horse, and someday Drelm hoped to own a pack of them himself. If he wasn't putting all of his money into house fixtures and furniture, he'd surely be saving for one of Cyrelle's hounds.
He watched as the huntswoman fed them, then, at her suggestion, helped feed the hawk, letting the fragile but deadly creature sit on his wrist while he offered it little bits of meat.
He was reaching into the satchel for more to present to that sharp little beak when the fog rolled in.
"That's strange," Cyrelle said, rising.
Almost at the same moment he heard Elyana calling for him he heard the howl of wolves. Cyrelle's hounds were instantly on their feet, ears high, fur bristling. Drutha's dog, Emblid, searched this way and that, as if looking for his dead mistress.
"Up," Cyrelle told the hawk, and the animal beat its wings and lifted from Drelm's upraised arm.
"Grab weapons!" Drelm shouted. "Gather at the fire! Elyana!"
Even standing, he could no longer see through the fog. There was no sign of Elyana, and he prayed that Abadar would see her to safety, even though he knew his friend trusted her sword arm more than any god.
Around him rose the panicked shouting of his companions. The fog was so thick that he could see little beyond a few spear-lengths. There was no time even to seek the fire, and he told Cyrelle to ready, for he heard the growl of wolves approaching. He unlimbered his axe. He had not yet removed his armor, and Cyrelle, busy with her hounds, had not donned hers.
The woman was bent to grab her leather cuirass when the wolves, great gray beasts half again the size of Cyrelle's animals, loped into view.
Cyrelle's loyal animals rushed forward with Emblid, barking their fury.
Drelm went with them.
As a wolf bore down on Emblid, Drelm brought the axe through half its snarling face and yanked the weapon free as the beast sank on nerveless limbs.
From behind him, Melias screamed like some battle goddess, shouting again and again to the glory of Razmir.
One of the wolves grabbed a hound at the neck and bit down even as another of the brave animals attacked the wolf's flank. Drelm's axe whistled down and clove the wolf almost in two. Cyrelle was finally in armor then and came up to his side. The other wolves sped on, and Cyrelle urged her hounds after, leaving only Emblid and Cyrelle's lead dog, its ruff matted with blood. It growled, clambered to its feet, and came with them.
There was the sound now of shouted incantations, and the clang of swords, and, oddly, laughter.
"Witchery," Drelm spat. "Calvonis said there were witches, and druids."
"Then let's hunt them," Cyrelle suggested.
He liked the woman's determination, and they jogged off together, following the dogs through the fog. There was an explosion immediately on their right and, a moment after, the smell of gun smoke and a whimper.
A figure resolved itself into Lisette, with another wolf at her feet. She carried a smoking rifle.
"We're hunting wizards," Drelm told her, and the woman grinned and fell in step.
Someone rode past on their right, but the fog was so dense Drelm saw only the suggestion of a dark shape and nothing more. Lisette, lagging slightly behind, did not fire, probably because the target was uncertain even for her.
He sensed the end of the fog a moment before he reached it, and wondered if its edge would be watched.
Drelm glanced back to find Lisette trotting right on his heels, rifle leveled.
"Spell ends in about a foot," he told her. "You ready?"
She nodded once.
"Scouter's spotted something," Cyrelle said, then flinched, and cursed, her voice choked off with a sob. "Someone throwing spells. He's hurt bad."
"Now," Drelm said, and leapt forward. No better time to attack a caster than right after they worked magic.
Lisette charged out of the mist, dropped to one knee and blasted off a shot at a trio of gray-backed wolves starting up from a downed dog. The brown-clad man in the robe beside the wolves was probably the graver threat, but the wolves would reach them sooner, so Drelm charged. His axe caught one in mid-leap. The blow bit deep, but the wolf's speed and weight tore the battleaxe from his hand. The animal hit the ground with a thud, kicking its legs feebly.
The third wolf was a few steps behind the first two. Lisette was tugging at one of her pistols, but could not possibly clear it in time, so Drelm threw himself at the beast and both fell.
It buried fangs in his shoulder and sharp claws dug furrows in his tabard and screeched against his scale mail. Drelm roared at the wolf and the pain, pressing with the full weight of his body. One gauntleted hand pushed back the beast's great maw while the other tightened around its neck.
Cyrelle stepped up and with a savage shout drove her sword through the wolf's neck. The creature reflexively let go and Drelm rolled away.
The druid continued his charge.
"Is that one of the Oakstewards?" Cyrelle asked.
"Not for much longer." Lisette stepped to her side and aimed her pistol
Drelm heard the shot as he leapt over to the wolf and grabbed his battleaxe.
But if Lisette hit, the bullet left the man unfazed. His cloak seemed to flow like water about him. Drelm saw it had become a part of his skin, like a furry layer. His face, too, changed, enlarging and widening, and he dropped suddenly onto four legs, transformed fully into a great brow
n bear.
Lisette cursed. "I'll reload! Keep him busy!"
Drelm rushed to meet the beast. Just before impact he veered right, reaching one-handed with his weapon. The blade bit into one flank, but the bear-man swatted him sideways, shredding tabard, armor, and the skin beneath.
Drelm hit the ground on his shoulder and rolled back to his feet. The bear slowed, turned, and came forward on two legs, growling. The half-orc had a brief respite to grab the bloody axe, then the battle began in earnest.
The bear towered over him and could swipe with either of its great paws with stunning force. Then, too, there was the huge maw, open and ready to snap. Drelm, though, had his axe, wielded with such cunning it was like an extension of his own body. He and the bear feinted and swiped and dodged each other's blows, partners in a lethal dance.
Drelm heard the rush of hooves and, from the corner of his eye, saw Cyrelle cut down by one of the Oaksteward rangers. Her remaining hound and Emblid cast themselves savagely at the forelegs of her assailant's mount, and then the moment was lost to him as he and the bear pivoted. Some part of Drelm knew then that the Oaksteward reinforcements were all in league with the summoner, but he had no time to dwell upon the information.
He ducked a slice with a massive paw that would have laid open his head, then drove his axe deep into the creature's chest. There was a satisfying crunch and a welter of blood. The resulting backhand set him staggering, and he lost hold of his weapon.
Partly stunned, he still managed to grab one of his throwing axes. He gained a quick impression now of the rest of the battle. There was Lisette, loading her smoking rifle. Cyrelle was down, but so was her attacker's horse, and one of their attackers lay across the dying beast with his skull blown open. Cyrelle's hound stood guard over her motionless body; Emblid, though, was dancing around the feet of the bear, barking furiously. The other hounds lay mixed in among the dead wolves.
Drelm shook his head to clear the spots of blackness that danced in his vision, then launched his axe. Almost at the same moment, Lisette fired her rifle. Brains and gore sprayed forth from the bear's head, and it swayed for a moment before toppling heavily to the side.
Drelm grunted in satisfaction and ripped his second throwing axe from his belt.
"That was my brother," said a woman's voice beside him.
He whirled, but there was no one to see, only a smell of sage and a faint perfume. He swung out with his axe and heard only a cackle. "I have something for you, half-orc," the voice said.
Drelm snarled his defiance, but a strange sickness seized him at the same time a slim woman in a tattered skirt appeared nearby. His throwing axe slipped from fingers suddenly no more nimble than sausages. He heard another cackle and the rage that always lay within him broke free from his control.
Gone was his governing intellect. Gone was any semblance of sanity. He felt his body changing. His teeth elongated into fangs and his tusks transformed into savage, dagger-length protrusions. His fingernails warped into hardened talons.
He had not even the reason left to charge toward the magic-worker who had cast the spell. He was angry, and something was calling his name and waving a smoking stick.
Drelm roared and ran at her.
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Eighteen
Lucky Shot
Lisette
Lisette didn't believe in luck. Success was a matter of being well trained, well prepared, and flexible so that when something fell right into your hands you took advantage of it.
The moment the fog dropped, she'd thought about offing Drelm. No one would have seen. But she'd been reluctant to do that for the same reason that the mayor hadn't wanted her to kill the captain before the monster died. He was simply too good in a fight, and there was no telling what exactly they were up against. She'd been tempted to blast him two or three times as they moved up through the fog, but then she'd seen the druid—the Oaksteward?—and knew things had suddenly gotten a lot, lot weirder. There was no telling who was on her side then, except for Drelm and Cyrelle. And then Cyrelle dropped. All she could tell for sure about what was going on within the fog was that Melias was still blasting things, because the girl kept shouting about Razmir.
Then a woman appeared out of nowhere and worked magic on Drelm, and now the captain was eyeing her like dinner. It was the chance she'd been waiting for.
Lisette didn't want to take it.
"Drelm," she shouted. "Damn your eyes! Snap out of it—"
He screamed and leapt at her.
She had a pistol in either hand, and there was no hope for it. She fired the right a split second before the left so that the kick of the weapons wouldn't throw off her aim.
It was near point-blank range, and the half-orc fell back with a spray of blood as two holes punched through his armor. Her sight of the wound was obscured by the billow of powder smoke.
She tossed down the pistols and wrenched her sword free. Drutha's brave dog came hurrying over, barking at the witch. But Lisette knew even as she lifted the blade that she'd taken too long. She saw the sly smile on the woman's bony face and the sparkle of rings on long fingers as dry lips spoke twisted words. There was still a gap of six paces left between them when the cold fingers of sleep dragged her down, and as Lisette staggered she threw her sword. She was asleep before she knew whether she'd struck.
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Nineteen
Truth of the Matter
Elyana
The fog dropped moments after she and Aladel began their run. Elyana shouted for the rest of her band to take up arms, and Aladel cried a warning about the Oakstewards. Yet even as they spoke there came the sounds of spells being cast, and the howl of wolves.
The ground shook under hoofbeats as she and Aladel crossed into the fog, so thick Elyana couldn't see more than a few paces. Sound, too, was strangely distorted by the unnatural mists.
Elyana pulled off her bow, strung before she'd begun her sprint, and nocked an arrow in the direction she thought the rider approached from. "Friend or foe?" she shouted.
There was no answer other than the sound of oncoming hooves. She let fly, once, then again.
"How can you see?" Aladel asked. He stood beside her, arrow nocked.
"I don't need to see." As she launched the third arrow a horse reared out of the darkness and a figure on its back paused with raised sword, then slumped from the saddle. She raced to grab the animal's halter, willing it to calm as Aladel pulled the corpse's foot from the stirrup.
"One of the new arrivals," Aladel told her.
She made soothing sounds to the horse, a chestnut stallion with a white blaze. She spared a brief glance for its former rider as she vaulted into the saddle. A warrior dressed in the colors of the Sevenarches. Two arrows stood out from his chest, one high, one low, and the blood had ruined his pretty tabard.
The pop of Lisette's guns and Drelm's distinctive battle roar rose on the wind. As Elyana leaned down to offer Aladel a hand she heard Melias cry "Glory of Razmir!" and a resulting scream of pain. She wondered if Kilvor had expected this level of resistance.
Elyana urged the horse forward and searched the gloom. "Why didn't they just kill us all last night, while we slept?"
"Maybe they couldn't until the rest of their people arrived," Aladel pointed out. "Or maybe last night was to eliminate opposition, and this morning was for the ritual."
"Pray then that they need more than blood," Elyana said darkly, "because plenty of it will spill." She urged the animal forward, straining for sight of something, anything, in the rolling walls that surrounded them.
Kilvor hailed from the fog before them. "Who's out there?"
"Flank left," Elyana whispered to Aladel, then the two dropped silently from the horse. She slapped the horse's hindquarters, and it stamped forward with a snort.
From up ahead came a cry of surprise and a flash of l
ightning. The horse cried out in alarm
She arrived a moment before Aladel to discover Kilvor turned away from her, standing beside the body of Hindreck. Judging by the parallel furrows in the ground that led to the younger druid's boots, the elder had been dragging him.
Kilvor was completely unaware of her approach, and stared off toward the sound of the horse galloping away through the grasses. His head snapped to the left as Aladel emerged from the fog, and the druid lifted a hand just as Elyana closed from behind and slammed her sword hilt against the side of his head.
Kilvor groaned, wobbled, turned toward her and reached out with grasping fingers. She saw his lips working.
It would have been very nice to hold the sword to his throat and demand explanation, or troop movements, or any number of useful things, but she was tired of wizards and druids and tricks and so she drove the blade deep into his chest. The only thing that rose from Kilvor's lips then was blood. His hands clawed at her blade as she drove it deeper. He sagged.
She pulled the blade out and let go of him. He dropped to the ground with a dull thud, twitching, eyes already glazed.
Aladel looked at her in surprise.
"Make sure he's dead," she said, then bent to Hindreck.
The younger druid wasn't dead, only unconscious.
"It would have been nice to question him," Aladel pointed out.
"Maybe." From out in the fog there were still calls of "Glory of Razmir" and an occasional wolf cry. "We'd best..."
She fell silent as she heard the steady thud, as of something heavy moving out there in the gloom. The sound was unfamiliar, but the shift of the ground was identical to the vibration made by Calvonis's creature. Aladel must have recognized it too, for he looked up in surprise, one hand holding a large black amulet he'd wrested from Kilvor's cloak. Elyana motioned him forward, rammed her bloody sword into its sheath, then grabbed Hindreck's arms. Aladel quirked an eyebrow at her but swiftly bent to grab the druid's legs, then the two lifted him and backed away from Kilvor even as a monstrous form reared up, obscured by fog. She saw a huge, lizardlike head and heard the voice of a woman.