by David Adams
The monster impaled itself on the spear, its own speed and weight driving the metal tip deeper into its body than Alexis could have thrust it. Thick black blood oozed down the shaft of the weapon and onto Alexis’ hands and arms. It thrashed violently, trying to get loose, trying to shake free of the thing that held it fast and kept its mandibles a few inches away from its enemy.
Alexis strained every muscle to keep her balance and maintain her grip. The blood continued to pour from the wound, making the wooden shaft slick.
The creature screamed, a high-pitched siren that could shatter glass. It bent its head so that its four eyes focused all their baleful rage on Alexis. Its yell was directed right into her face, and carried the foul stench of rot and decay with it.
Alexis loosed her own scream, a Lorgrasian war cry. For a lingering moment they held those screams, warriors locked in a fatal embrace.
The creature snapped again with its mandibles, still unable to close the gap between the razor-sharp appendages and the flesh that was so near. Its legs reached in vain for the woman that held it at bay. Its lower body burned and shriveled, caught in the fire that still raged around them.
Alexis could see its strength starting to ebb, and she held her position, knowing time was on her side. Finally help arrived, Demetrius hacking the creature just below where the spear had entered, severing its body in three strokes. Alexis took what was left and thrust it into the flames. She watched it wither and burn, her eyes ablaze with a fire that was more than solely a reflection of what was before her.
Insect bodies were strewn about the area, many burned, some sliced by weapons after they had been thrown clear of the fire while still alive. Rowan worked furiously to stamp out the burning embers that had been tossed outward, and used his cloak to put out one small blaze that threatened to get out of control. In a matter of minutes everything flung from the bonfire had been quieted, and the roaring central fire burned deeper into the nest. The screams of the insects stilled.
Corson slid next to Alexis, his face stained with soot and sweat. “You dealt well with ‘Mama.’ ”
“Thank you,” Alexis replied as she flicked the thick black blood from her hands. “I was fortunate.”
“That it sprang right at you? I wouldn’t want your luck.”
“That my spear was in front of me. If it had been at my side…”
“Being prepared is not luck,” Tala said. She took a long look at the fire settling further into the nest. “We should wait for it to burn out on its own. Make sure nothing living yet stirs below.”
Alexis smiled softly. “You will get no argument from me. I have had my fill of fighting what lives below.”
“Spear serves you well,” Lucien said, raising his warblade in salute. He gave Alexis a slight bow.
Alexis understood the gesture, and the respect it conveyed. “I am honored, Lucien.”
“Is the shard still in the pit?” Demetrius asked. “As much as was thrown clear when that monster—.”
“Mama,” Corson said, as if correcting his friend.
Demetrius shook his head, but his lips betrayed him with a smirk. “ ‘Mama’ then. My point is that the shard may no longer be below.”
Tala was beginning to dig into her pouch for the partial Sphere when a flash of movement caught her eye. One of the insects, half charred black, still clung to life. It struck at Tala’s leg with what little strength it had left, and was neatly cleaved in two by Lucien’s warblade for its last, spiteful act. But the mandibles had found their mark, driving through the thick leather of Tala’s boot and biting into the flesh just above her right ankle.
Tala gave a small shout, more from surprise than pain. She shook the thing off easily, its muscles gone lax in death.
“I sorry,” Lucien said, his eyes large and his expression pained. “I should be quicker.”
“Nonsense,” Tala replied. “I am thankful you were as swift as you were.” She gave a little grimace, then, seeing the concerned faces of the group, she said, “Just stings a bit.” She finished retrieving the Soul Sphere from her pouch, cast her spell, and then said, “It remains centered in the nest, about two feet beneath the surface. As the fire dies, it should be easy enough to fish out.”
She stepped away from the nest-centered blaze, but could not escape the eyes of her companions. “I am fine,” she told them, trying to sound more certain than she felt. The wound was beginning to burn and send sharp pains shivering up her leg.
Rowan diverted his eyes from Tala. He had been studying her face, and could see the pain and fear she was trying to mask. He waited until the others had busied themselves watching the fire or scouring the small clearing for any other half-alive insects, then worked his way over to Tala. “I’m no healer, but I might be able to help if I can look at the wound.”
She made to protest, but was wracked by a sudden wave of agony. Reluctantly she sat on the ground and removed her boot, muffling a cry as she did so.
Rowan started to suck air between his teeth as he saw the injury, but caught himself. He offered Tala an ineffective smile instead.
The puncture wounds were small, one on each side of the leg, but the skin around them had already gone to deep purple, almost to black where the holes were. Rowan thought he could see the swelling getting worse even as he watched.
Tala winced as the paladin gently laid his hands on the wound. He closed his eyes in prayer, channeling healing power through himself. Strain started to show on his face after a few moments. He pulled his hands away with a soft sigh.
“I can do no more,” he said, struggling to meet her eyes. Thin black fluid ran from the two punctures. “For now,” he added.
“The pain is less,” she said. “Thank you.”
He nodded, then tore off part of his bedroll and bound the leg with it, tying it off hard below the knee to try to slow the spread of the poison they did not understand, but which they both knew was in Tala’s body.
As the fire waned, Corson drew closer to the nest, trying to ignore the stench given off by the roasted creatures. “I don’t think they’d make a good supper,” he said to no one in particular. Inside the pit the flames were dying out, but the embers still glowed a golden red and the heat that rose from the hole prevented him from taking any more than a very swift look inside.
“We will need to wait a time before we can search for the shard,” Demetrius said. His words were for Corson, but Tala overheard.
“Now that the insects are gone, I might be able to lift it out with a spell,” she said.
“But you are hurt,” Rowan countered.
“My leg, not my mind.” Her stern look showed she would brook no further argument from the others. Seeing she had their acquiescence, she said, “Move me closer to the nest.”
Rowan lifted her gently and placed her down just as lightly at a spot she indicated a few feet from the hole. From there, Tala cast a finding spell, and once she was sure the shard was not being held she used a levitation spell. Strain showed on her face from the effort—the spell allowed her to lift very little, and even the ash and half-burned wood that the shard rested under were almost too much to overcome. She could sense when the shard was clear of the fire’s debris, the mental weight she fought against lifting at the same instant. She allowed the piece to drop in the dirt beside her, as it still glowed white-hot from the fire.
Rowan kicked some dirt on it to help it cool, then pushed it about with the toe of his boot. He touched it tentatively with a finger, and found that it was cool enough to handle. He offered it to Tala, looking first at the hand in which she held the partial Soul Sphere, then his eyes slowly moving up to meet hers. He did not like what he saw.
Tala’s eyes had gone glassy, their focus far away. There was a tiredness there that he did not like, and a calmness to her expression—a certain slackness—that he liked even less. He took her hand in his and tried to rub some warmth into the clammy coldness he found there.
“The poison is powerful,” she said in
a voice that was no more than a whisper.
“You need to rest,” he told her in a soothing tone. “Sleep if you can.”
“I will sleep,” she agreed, “for a time or forever.” She met his grim concern with a smile. “I should have left the shard for the others to retrieve. The spells stole too much of my strength. I have named my people stubborn, and now I see I am no better.”
Rowan was lost for words. He could only offer a clumsy smile as he placed a bedroll under her head and watched her drift off with frightening quickness. Her chest continued to rise and fall in short, shuddering breaths.
“Is there anything we can do?” Demetrius asked.
“The poison is beyond me. We will need to find other help or pray that with rest and time she will overcome it on her own.”
Alexis bent down to take a closer look at the bandaged leg. Dark fluid soaked the wrap, and a smell like death wafted upward from the wound. “We cannot wait. We must try to find help.”
“It will be a least two days out of these woods,” said Corson. “And beyond that?”
“We could reach a village a few hours after we’re clear of the forest,” Alexis replied. “The horses should be waiting.”
“And then?” asked Demetrius.
“We hope there is someone in the village that might be able to help with a cure.”
“ ‘Hope,’ ” Demetrius repeated, spitting out the word. “Like the hope that this village hasn’t been destroyed by the Dead Legion. The hope that nothing will hinder us on this race back out of the woods.” He looked at Tala and then slammed his clenched fist into his thigh in frustration.
“I can offer nothing more without lying,” Alexis said, her tone as soft as Demetrius’ had been hard.
“I know.” Demetrius took a moment to calm himself. “Even if all our prayers are answered, I fear we need more time than we have.”
“Then best start now,” suggested Lucien. He lifted Tala in his powerful arms, cradling her as he would a delicate child. He started off without allowing time for further questions or discussion. The others grabbed torches and followed.
Corson trotted near his old friend. “We could easily get lost in this wood. Tala directed us in, but with no stars or sun…”
“I know,” Demetrius said with a sigh. “We ask for much. Maybe we should pray to Rowan’s god.”
“I have talked to him about this Savior. There seems a truth in what he says. His belief is certainly fervent.”
“That I’ll not deny, although some see this ‘truth’ you mention as mere folly and wishes. Rowan has said all prayers prayed by a just heart are answered, but perhaps not in the ways one would expect.”
“If Rowan prays for Tala’s life and is denied…I don’t see the good in that.”
“None of us would. Not even Rowan. He might just accept it differently.”
“And what of our quest if she doesn’t pull through? Without her to guide us…”
“There are others,” Alexis said. She saw the startled looks Corson and Demetrius wore. “I apologize. I did not mean to eavesdrop.”
“We spoke no secrets,” Demetrius said. “What others do you speak of?”
“Others with the magic. I traveled with a mage—her name was Karlessa. I did not even have time to despair of the quest after she fell in the tunnel outside the Pit Demon’s lair before meeting Tala.” Alexis paused to push away the painful memory her own words conjured up. “If she dies it will be a cruel loss, but we cannot give up. Another path will be shown to us—be it by Rowan’s Savior or the fates.”
“I pray that you are right,” Demetrius said.
They had traveled less than an hour when familiar sounds came from both right and left. Lucien stopped, placed Tala gently on the ground, and then drew his warblade. “Face me!” he demanded. “No time for games!”
Out of the darkness stepped a wolf covered head to paw in black fur. “Still your tongue, goblin. The Wolf King comes.”
Rowan tried to speak, but Lucien cut him off. “Wait hurts us. Wolf King answer for it.”
The black wolf snarled. “Speak to him thus, goblin, and you’ll end up in my belly.”
“Open your belly with warblade.”
“Enough!” The Wolf King moved into the small area illuminated by the torches. “You have destroyed the nest. This is a great favor for my people, and for that I will forgive your harsh words.”
Lucien made as if to retort, but this time Rowan would not be put off. “You do us honor with your words, mighty king. But one of our party has been bitten by the creatures, and we are in haste to seek aid for her wound.”
“You return to your own kind, outside of the wood?”
“We do.”
The Wolf King approached Tala, then sniffed twice. “She will not survive the journey, even if you know of someone that could cure her. There is too little time.”
Rowan sighed. “We have to try.”
“We have been plagued by that nest for years, so much so that we no longer hunt anywhere near it. Many wolves fell to the poison of those insects, but some were saved.”
“How?”
“There is one with healing powers, a man like you, a friend to all living creatures who has made his peace with the denizens of this wood and who is allowed to live amongst us. He may be able to help.”
“Can you lead us to him?”
“I can and will, although the smell of death is already strong on the she-elf. Time grows short. I owe you a debt for the destruction of the nest, so we will carry you. If the goblin carries the female, the two can ride on my back.”
There was nothing Lucien wanted less, but he dutifully took up Tala and mounted the kneeling Wolf King.
“Hold onto my fur goblin, tightly. I run swiftly and know my way through the trees. The path is not often straight.”
The wolves were swift and powerful, bearing their burdens with ease, tearing through the dark wood. Torches had been discarded, and the riders held on with both hands, feeling the cold air flow past their faces. Corson rode with his eyes closed more often than not. He could see little anyway, other than trees that seemed to lurch toward him and his mount before the wolf dodged one way or the other to avoid them.
Rowan had mounted the black wolf, who had said to him, “You do not realize the honor the king does you to allow you to ride this way.”
“He will have our gratitude, always.”
The wolf only grunted in reply, which reminded Rowan of Lucien. He laughed to himself thinking of what the goblin would think of that comparison.
As best as Demetrius could tell, they traveled north or northeast, although it was hard to keep his bearings the way the wolves ran. After an hour his muscles were cramped and sore, but the wolf beneath him kept up its reckless pace. As a second hour of riding neared its close, dim lights appeared ahead. The wolf began to slow, and Demetrius could see that a small house was built here, and the light came from braziers placed around it.
The house was not much more than a shack, four simple wooden walls with no windows and only a single door. As they dismounted the door swung open.
A man stepped out, one who had seen many years—his face was worn and wrinkled, his hair long ago gone gray. He wore a simple green tunic and plain sandals on his feet, and although he moved in slow, measured steps, his eyes were keen and intelligent.
“You bring me a guest, O King,” he said.
“Travelers who sought a treasure at the nest. One of their number was bitten. They seek your aid.”
His eyes fell upon Tala, and his face grew grim. “Bring her inside. Quickly, quickly!” He led the way, leaving the door open for the others to follow.
His dwelling was as plain as his clothes, and except for a row of jars covering the shelves along one wall, it contained only the bare necessities—a bed, a fire pit vented to a small chimney, a small chest with clothes. He indicated the bed and Lucien placed Tala upon it.
“My name is Ballthor,” he said as he started to
remove the wrapping on Tala’s leg.
Rowan recited the names of his companions as well as his own. Ballthor simply said, “Mm-hmm,” never looking up from his work.
The discoloration on Tala’s leg had spread halfway up her thigh. After inspecting the wound, Ballthor asked, “Has anything been done for her?”
“I have done what I could to slow the poison and drain the wound,” Rowan replied. “I’m afraid that is all.”
“Did you use roots? Plants?”
“Prayer.”
Ballthor turned to eye Rowan. “A paladin?” A smile creased the corners of his lips.
Rowan nodded.
“How long since the bite?”
“A little over two hours.”
Ballthor stroked his gray beard, then went to the shelves and started picking through the jars, which were filled with various liquids and powders, most of which the travelers did not recognize. “Thank your god, Rowan. Elves have strong constitutions, but two hours should have done more damage. Your prayers were answered.”
“Then she will live?”
Ballthor shrugged. “I will do what I can. But you have given her a chance. Your prayers and the Wolf King. Why did he aid you?”
“We destroyed what he called ‘The Nest.’ ”
Ballthor looked genuinely surprised. “Destroyed it? How?”
“Fire.”
“A risky gamble. You might have killed yourselves and destroyed half the forest in the attempt.”
“Dark times sometimes call for great risk.”
“That is so,” said Ballthor. He measured ground leaves and plants out of several jars and worked them together in a small bowl, into which he poured a sour-smelling, thick, yellow liquid. “Did you retrieve the shard?”