Atoi appeared intact, with no open wounds in sight. She knelt beside her oldest, yet youngest, companion. Atoi was still unconscious, though her breathing seemed normal. She wondered if it was possible to kill her. Atoi-the-Girl may die should her little host body take damage beyond the entity’s ability to heal or replenish her blood. Once the precious bodily fluid was gone, it may leave the husk behind. Perhaps. Or, perhaps, the entity shielded her from the worst damage. Who knew what it could do, or what it would do. How badly would it want to preserve its host?
Atoi-the-Dark Child was a mystery that rarely communicated. She was glad she’d met her and found a friend with the little girl. Though calling Atoi a ‘friend’ was stretching her sensibilities a bit—the little imp had stabbed her on their first meeting—but she’d been a loyal little sociopath thereafter, even bringing help to rescue her from the spiderbees. Whether the being Atoi carried inside was a friend was still a mystery. Crystalyn suspected friend was as alien a concept to it as it was alien to them all.
Her eyes fell on the dagger lying beside the tattered, red-robed guard’s corpse. Picking it up, Crystalyn was surprised at its weight, far less than its size suggested. The balance of the thing was flawless.
Do’brieni! Weakness and pain flowed into her mind.
Broth! Oh no, please, don’t be hurt! Silence subdued her silent plea.
Fearful of what she would find, Crystalyn ran to the last place she’d seen Broth. Rounding a pillar, she slid in a dark red liquid, careening against a brown-robed body, flailing to keep her footing. Broth lay close by. Many brown robes lay wet and torn around her faithful companion. No one moved. Not even her Do’brieni. No!
Falling to her knees, Crystalyn willed her heart to slow while groping under the Warden’s front haunch where his fur was thin. Slick with his blood, Crystalyn spent a terrifying moment finding a weak pulse. It would have to be enough. It had to. Bringing out her golden healing symbol, Crystalyn attached herself to it as it sank into her companion.
WAIL
Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, Jade peered in terror over Camoe’s shoulder as he crouched. The terror she’d sensed, growing ever stronger since leaving their camp hours ago, had its source within the monstrous wall rising dark and ominous from where they hid. The rock and earthen pile that concealed them was small: Jade imagined two giants hiding behind a thrust cycle. Some part of her and Camoe had to be sticking out flagging the enemy.
Spread out beyond their lonely pile, a shattered talus field lay leveled, as if someone had ignited explosives throughout the area, and then dragged something heavy over it once to fill in the holes. Why had the druid brought them so close? The wall was not as high as the one above the Black Gate at the Dark Citadel, but still it was high. Someone or something was watching them cower behind these pebbles; she could feel it through every fiber of her being.
Her benefactor was acting from desperation. There was no way she’d be able to do what he wanted: she couldn’t step out into the open in front of the ominous thing, not even with sunlight fading. It was too barren, too open out there. Even a small lizard would have to move ever so carefully, scurrying from rock to rock. Where was the pitted ground Camoe had described earlier?
Jade glanced at her druidic guide. His plan had seemed a bit brazen behind the cover of the short, rocky ravine that had brought them this far. He had assured her that, by keeping to small drainage ditches and cratered holes left behind from ancient times; they could pass the wall undetected in daylight.
They had to do it by light of day. Nightfall, he’d claimed, would increase the danger of the guardians’ detection. Now look at them, stuck behind a pile of pebbles, afraid to go forward and too wary to go back. The risk was too high they’d be spotted a second time. Yet what else could they do? Sit here and wait for the Stair’s denizens to slaughter them at days end?
A winged shadow in the shape of a large man darkened the ground before them.
Camoe tensed.
Jade bit her lip to keep from crying out.
What landed a spear’s throw away was no man. The back of its large, wide head had thick brown hair, but any resemblance to human ended there. Its scaled wings befitted a hatchling dragon, with prominent bone spikes protruding from the membrane tips. Jade guessed without difficulty what the creature was from Camoe’s earlier description.
The maimwright retracted its dragon-like wings along its spine, forming a spiked carapace that added to its already formidable armor. Shifting on splayed, three-toe feet, the maimwright head pointed toward the swamps, showing its beaked profile.
Jade’s bottom lip hung slack in her mouth, chewing forgotten as her fear grew. Thick, curved claws protruded from the end of one of its arms like a wheat scythe scissor. The claw looked strong enough to shear through an aspen tree—or her waist. Camoe’s comment about maimwrights keeping food fresh blared in her mind. Its food required cutting into chunks to fit in a beak.
Jade knew she should flee, but her body failed to respond. Her eyes remained fixed on the scissor hand, watching in stark terror as the maimwright opened and closed them as though in anticipation.
A shadow passing overhead followed by the thump of something heavy enough to vibrate the ground, heralded the arrival of a second creature. Afraid of what she would see, Jade tore her vision from the first creature to gaze at the second one.
The newcomer was a darker shade of green, yet was similar to its partner in most every horrid detail. Its monstrous face showed wide mandibles covering the jaw where a nose should reside. Two rows of jagged, carnivorous teeth lined the beak. Above the beak, two multifaceted eyes crammed with silver octagons bulged out below its forehead like a diamond covered with a screen foil.
The green maimwright halted near the brown nightmare, opening its beak. A series of clicks and wheezes in an odd supernatural tone spewed forth, rolling over the teeth. The clicks and wheezes ended abruptly when the brown creature turned its alien head in their direction.
Camoe drew his sword with a faint rustle of air.
Jade wanted to scream at Camoe. What could he hope to accomplish against two of them? It was hopeless. The maimwrights had size and strength on their side. Camoe had only useless, helpless her. Her mind cried out a warning to run away, but terror kept her mute and frozen.
The maimwrights separated, approaching their hiding spot with surprising speed.
Camoe gripped her arm hard. He pointed with his sword, breathing a terse whisper, “Run back the way we arrived. Make for the fallen falun tree. I shall attempt to meet you there.”
Jade nodded, but still her muscles refused to obey. The wrights had too few steps to go before they would be upon her, dicing her and eating her alive.
“Go!” Camoe whispered urgently. Standing, the druid faced his foes.
Both monstrosities paused, gauging the druid, but not for long, the creatures advanced.
Jade couldn’t move. The creatures were almost upon the druid, then her.
Suddenly Burl was there, halting in front of the druid. Outstretched in one upheld hand, Jade’s bag dangled, swinging back and forth by the strap.
“At least I get to destroy the betrayer,” Camoe said with deadly calm, raising his long sword.
“No!” Jade croaked, finding her voice amidst her fear. “He’s here to distract them!”
Four, foil-covered eyes followed the sound of her voice. Each facet seemed to glisten with anticipation. Ignoring Burl, both maimwrights moved toward her, their scaly toes scraping rocks with metallic clicks. Why wasn’t she fleeing?
Burl stepped behind the brown wright, wrapping the strap around the beak in one awkward, though fast, motion.
The maimwright’s claw shot upward with surprising speed to grip Burl’s forearm. Burl wrenched backward. A snip and a sharp cracking sound rang through Jade’s hearing. The creature’s head fell back at a grotesque angle. “The head is the weak spot!” Jade screamed.
Pushing off from the top of the rock pile, C
amoe lunged, burying his sword halfway to the hilt in the green monstrosity’s screened eye. Several inches of steel was visible protruding from the back of the creatures head. Never releasing his grip on the sword’s hilt, Camoe followed it to the ground.
Burl allowed the brown maimwright to drop beside the green.
Jade drew a shaky breath, stunned; it was over as fast as it began.
Planting a booted foot on the maimwright’s throat, Camoe pulled his sword out accompanied by the dull schling of steel against stone. Perhaps the thing was made of rock.
Holding his right arm to his side, Burl stepped toward the black wall, pointing at it with his left arm.
Jade was alarmed. “What’s wrong with his other arm?”
“This isn’t the place to find out,” Camoe said in a loud whisper. “Come on, Burl’s right. We need to move close to the wall. It shall be harder for anything without wings to spot us there.” Sprinting, he caught up to the raggedy man just as he reached the wall’s base.
Jade scrambled over the rock wall, avoiding the creatures. Uncertain they were actually dead; she swung wide, angling ahead of Camoe. As she ran, her mind whirled. The snipping sound must have been Burl’s arm. How bad was the injury?
Burl reached the wall first. Switching direction, he ran along it toward the swamps, moving with astonishing speed. Jade pumped her legs hard, trying to catch up. Concentrating on the layout of the ground ahead, she ran past Camoe and fell in behind Burl at the wall, sensing an alien presence behind it. Old when the planet was young, it was here feeding on Astura’s vibrancy, growing in power, devouring a new world with ease until making a near fatal mistake. It attempted to consume something stronger. Something its alien intelligence had never before encountered in its long history. Forced into a great slumber, it had left this world alone. But not now, they’d awoken it.
Terror coursed through her veins. It was aware of her and it had spawned an offspring, one with mobility, a single offspring made for the sole purpose of extending the range of its terrible wrath for the older offspring were as helpless as it was without a host.
Onward they ran. The wall seemed to go on forever. How big could the wall be? Jade wondered. It was taking them too long. The looming presence shrugged off its last vestiges of sleep. Jade gazed wildly ahead; they must leave the wall behind them. But the wall stretched into eternity.
The alien awareness focused on her, unwinding one of its many tendrils. Jade’s breathing grew labored, harder than her running merited. Her heart thumped in her chest. “Faster!” Jade managed to yell, not much above a croak. “We have to go faster!” She feared no one would hear her cry.
Burl somehow heard. His legs a blur, he sped away.
Behind her, the malice paused briefly where they had first contacted the wall. Slipping along the inside wall, a shapeless darkness trailed them, moving with incredible speed.
The terrain changed from loose rock to dense clay, adding traction to her flailing legs, however, small.
The dark thing on the wall’s other side caught up, slowing to match her pace.
She tasted its malice, stale and thick as fog fouled with evil, and something defining, something she’d felt on this world before...boundless hunger. This hunger terrified her beyond what the flickers had, for this blackness had a timeworn, superhuman intelligence. It would first assimilate her and her ability, and then feed on the threat that Camoe posed. Burl was inedible, but it would destroy him nonetheless. Running was futile. It was too fast, too strong.
Slipping up the inside of the wall, the evil within stalked the top, slowing again to match her pace.
Jade wanted to veer away, but her body refused to obey.
All she could do was run, run until the horrible darkness consumed her, consumed them all.
Except, except, the wall was no longer beside her. She was running through a narrow path overgrown with humid, frond-like plants.
A high-pitched, inhuman wail rang through the air behind her.
AN OPPORTUNITY TO RECTIFY
The blades jabbed faster this time, coming at Garn from every direction. Daggers and throwing knives sought his eyes and torso. Brutal war axes and sharp pikes sliced through the air from the front and rear, even above, seeking to sever a femoral artery or chop his legs from under him. Curved scimitars and double-edged broadswords flashed.
Garn’s dual swords whirled faster than the deadly array as he spun; pirouetting around the room in a ringing, clanging, deadly dance. He leapt constantly, his feet rarely in contact with the floor, reveling in the physical exertion of it all, but he was tiring. His toes pushed from the floor to spin him along a different trajectory than he had intended. He spun less each time.
The blades’ owners had begun to notice his fatigue, attacking with renewed frenzy. The daggers and knives he simply dodged, letting them fly harmlessly over a shoulder or near an ear as he whirled. The swords that came at his waist, he blocked to a standstill or flicked away with his thick-backed swords while flowing endlessly between fighting forms. The magical attacks he blocked with the flat of his steel or dodged, letting them sail into other attackers.
All of it was tiring him, however, even with the exceptional enhancement of the sixth dose from the Alchemist. Was it his age? Or did its effect lessen with use, as the Alchemist was beginning to suspect? Garn stepped up the pace, concentrating on disabling a few axes and swords to even the score. Should his age be a factor, perhaps he could mask it with skill.
Mid-pirouette, he switched his whirling long swords direction while reversing his spin. The move nearly repaid him with a scimitar to the gut, but it worked. Expecting his flashing swords to block their weapons, the men surrounding him in the first row stumbled when their weapons met only air. Even the adept swordsmen slipped.
Garn didn’t hesitate, spinning faster, he roared through the front ring with a series of ripostes designed to disarm an opponent. The sound of metal clanging to the floor mixed with men’s cries and curses. Garn slowed, assessing the situation. The second and third ring, the one with the Dark Users, hesitated, caution apparent in faces and body posture.
The loud kaasoom of the end gong sounded through the room.
The second and third ring of men lowered their weapons quickly. The first ring was down or disabled, some would need extensive internal healing. Per the unwritten rule, he’d allowed them to keep their limbs intact, this time.
Garn slowed his dance, sheathing both swords to his back as he went; it wouldn’t do to have his muscles cramp, leaving him squirming in agony on the floor.
Winding down to a fast walk, he moved toward the gilded table taking up the great room’s northern end. The long table was likely the Alchemist’s most prized possession, at least, Garn thought of him as the Alchemist now. The Hooded Man spent most of his time at the table poring over maps and scrolls, settling disputes in the compound, but most often mixing together dark liquids. Black streaks on the work surface attested to the volatility of the compounds.
The Alchemist wasn’t mixing at present. Instead, he was watching Garn’s every move. Even though he couldn’t see the feline eyes under the cowl, Garn could sense them upon him when he finally stopped moving near the table, working to keep his breathing steady.
“Tell me how you feel,” the Alchemist demanded. “Are you weak? Or can you continue?”
“I could go on for some time yet, but not at the pace I was setting just before you rang the gong. I’d begun to falter.” Garn had learned early on to provide truthful answers to the man, nothing added, no observations, and no questions. The Hooded Man didn’t respond to any of it. Or worse, gave a command to have him punished. The most emotion he’d seen from the man had been the first morning back Corteezsha’s room. Or was it her cell? He was still undecided which.
Placing his elbows on the table, the hooded man leaned forward. “I have one final question. This is very important. The move you used to disable the adepts was that before or after you felt yourself tire?”<
br />
“After.”
The Alchemist fell back in his chair. Silence reigned. Garn began to get uncomfortable. He needed to eat soon. As after every test, his body was clamoring for sustenance, waiting too long could be fatal. His body would start to feed on itself at an accelerated rate, damaging his muscles and internal organs beyond magical, or potion infused, healing.
Finally, the Hooded Man stirred. “You are twice the age of nearly every man on the first ring, which constituted many of my best, yet you have defeated them. I have little doubt you would’ve beaten the second and third had I not ended it. An Impressive showing, I now consider you my greatest accomplishment. You may eat.”
Garn was stunned as he moved to the end of the table. Stuffing meats and fruits into his mouth, he chomped with abandon, marveling. He was the Hooded Man’s greatest achievement, something he found hard to believe. He hadn’t heard any higher praise spewing from the man’s mouth, not even when he witnessed Codar best a ring of steel. In truth, the Alchemist rarely said anything at all beyond asking questions, then making notations in a journal he always kept. The man’s clinical arrogance knew no bounds.
Such arrogance helped, in a way. It would make it slightly easier when the time arose for Garn to destroy him. His disposing of evil as profound as the Alchemist’s wouldn’t be any different than eradicating any of the assassins who’d attempted a go at the King or one of the King’s Administrators. It was simply something one did to protect an innocent—or not so innocent, as it may turn out—from filth. In this case, he’d be saving tens, perhaps hundreds of souls, innocent or not. The Alchemist didn’t care, male or female, good or bad, any soul to him he’d use as a lab rat.
Garn had seen his type in the Administration’s labs. Every lab had at least one smug bastard. The difference was the Alchemist probably deserved his sense of superiority. The man was more brilliant—though dangerous—than any arrogant lab coat he’d met during his seasons of service for the Administration.
Beyond the Sapphire Gate: Epic Fantasy-Some Magic Should Remain Untouched (The Flow of Power Book 1) Page 32