“Just for that, I’m going to torture you for months while your precious Luke dies an agonizing death before your eyes,” Stephen says in a feral voice. He pulls back his fist while deciding where he wants to hit the cursing caster. “Let’s see if I can give you a punctured lung in one hit. I promise it won’t kill you.”
A roar of pain erupts from Stephen’s throat as his severed arm falls at his feet. He whirls around to face Delvin and gets cracked in the jaw by the warrior’s shield. The stunned man stumbles back, quickly regaining his balance and pouncing at his attacker. A loud gurgling rumbles from the well before a hammer of icy water bursts out of its mouth and swats Stephen away. The enchanted liquid hits him again and grinds him into the frozen dirt, finishing its attack with a solid strike to his face.
“Leave Nyxie alone,” Sari says, stepping out from behind Delvin. She sends the water back into the well, but creates a cage of whirling snow around their enemy. “Luke is going to be fine now that Fizzle saved him.”
“I’m sure he’s merely delayed the inevitable,” Stephen casually claims, his tongue tasting the blood that is dripping down his face.
“At the very least we have time to stop the living curse,” Delvin declares, helping Nyx to her feet. He goes to help Trinity, who bats his hand away and crawls toward her companion. “Guess you’re going to have to find another way to kill Luke.”
The grinning man laughs and walks through the snow cage, his flayed skin repairing as he steps free. “To be honest, he really wouldn’t die. All the other creatures will, but the Callindor is having a much different reaction to the Dark Wind. His body will become entombed in a hard shell, which will lock him in a state of pure agony. Imagine being contained in a tight cell when pain urges your body to twist and contort. Only I will be able to release him from his suffering by either death or the cure. The final choice will be up to Nyx.”
“This is to get Nyx?” Sari asks, staring at her terrified friend.
“I want her and the person she cares the most about in this world is her precious little brother,” he mockingly replies. The severed arm appears back in place and he rolls his stiff shoulder. “I do find it interesting that he is her weakness. Normally, it’s a romantic connection that I have to manipulate. Then again, who really knows what lurks within the hearts of the young halfers?”
“Nothing like that,” Nyx states. She catches the look of fury in Sari’s eyes, which causes her to stare at her feet. “Luke and I are best friends. We haven’t even known each other a full year, but he’s become an important part of my life. It’s nothing more than a bond forged from battle and shared suffering. You believe me, Sari?”
“I was until you asked that question. I mean, you’ve been acting more . . . attentive than normal since Luke got sick. Forget it. I’m tired and not thinking straight. I trust you, Nyxie. Now let’s take care of Stephen.”
“Can we agree on something here?” Delvin asks as he sheathes his sword. He gestures toward the empty space where Stephen and Trinity once stood. “No more quarrels in front of our most dangerous enemy. We’re lucky he didn’t want to kill us. Next time save the personal issues for when you’re safe.”
“Sorry,” Nyx replies, wincing from the pain of her injuries. “I’m going to get healed and check on Luke. Thanks for saving me.”
Sari puts her hands on her friend’s shoulders and stares into her eyes. “Are you okay, Nyxie?”
“He . . . he . . .” the half-elf tries to say through sudden sobbing. She throws her arms around the gypsy’s neck and lets her fear take over, the dam in her mind shattering. “He could have had his way with me if you two hadn’t shown up. I . . . I still feel him touching me. Use the water from the well and drenched me, little sister. I want that sensation gone even if you have to freeze me to the bone.”
“He’s gone now,” Sari whispers while stroking her friend’s hair. She holds the caster out and smiles as warmly as she can. “I’ll give you a warm, safe, cleansing bath when we get back to our rooms.”
Without a word, Delvin takes Nyx’s hand and scoops her into his arms. He can feel her resist him at first, but Sari strokes her head as the trio walk toward the town. By the time they reach the edge of Fyric, Nyx has passed out from exhaustion and pain. Even in her slumber, warm tears continue to roll down her cheeks.
*****
The night shift of guards and healers shiver in the nocturnal winds, the eerie blue moon bathing them in sapphire light. All of them are so busy looking for threats from outside Fyric that they never notice a cloaked figure crawling through the shadows of the town. The mysterious form slowly makes its way to the edge of the birch grove where it stops and leans against a slender tree. With a heavy wheeze, the figure takes a deep breath and breaks into a coughing fit that it muffles with its hands.
“Luke being stupid,” Fizzle says as he lands on the escapee’s shoulder. He coils his tail around the figure’s arm in case his friend tries to run. “Need rest. Too weak. Fizzle no want Luke die.”
“I’m going to finish this,” the half-elf whispers, pushing his hood back to reveal his sweat-covered face. “The rest of you have your hands full with Stephen being in the area. This is the least I can do to help out.”
“No. Least is stay sleep. Leave curse to Fizzle. You share Fizzle strength, but not enough. Only slow curse. Fizzle not know why.”
The warrior’s hands shake and he grips his sabers to steady his fingers. “Then let me use this time to stop the Dark Wind. Please don’t keep me locked up while you guys are in danger. I’m already feeling stronger.”
“Because Fizzle here,” the drite explains with an adorable frown. He pats the half-elf on the head with his hands, emulating what he has seen Sari do over the last few days. “Spell work if Luke and Fizzle close. Spell weak if apart. Still not good to leave.”
“Then you can come too.”
“Please ask what can go wrong,” Delvin jokes as he gently taps Luke on the back of the head. With a friendly smile, the warrior steps in front of his friend and casually places a long-handled spoon on the half-elf’s shoulder. “The fact that I snuck up on you means you’re staying, Luke. I didn’t even try to hide my approach. You’re going back to bed and we’ll discuss this in the morning . . . young man.”
The forest tracker rolls his eyes and takes a step forward, but he is forced back by Delvin pushing the spoon against his belly. Luke struggles to fight the nausea caused by the faint pressure on his stomach, his face growing pale. He clumsily steps to the side and hits a tree, which knocks snow onto his head. The sudden cold feels like acid on his skin, so he bites his lip to avoid screaming from the jolting pain. Luke’s legs give out and he falls to his knees while Fizzle licks the snow away with his coarse, warm tongue.
“I want to help,” the forest tracker gasps.
“You were just taken down by a spoon, a tree, and some snow,” Delvin points out, kneeling in front of the other warrior. “I know you feel helpless and it’s painful to see you like this. Yet the best thing for you to do is get some sleep and let us handle everything. What would you do if Stephen or Trinity found you alone?”
“I’d run and lose them in the wild,” Luke childishly insists. He gets to his feet and leans against the tree with his arms crossed in an attempt to appear confident. “Fine. I’ll be in trouble if they catch me alone, but Fizzle will be with me. It won’t be any different than if you left me here and they attack Fyric.”
“Do you realize that Stephen’s probably done some horrific things over the years and nobody knows he exists?” Delvin asks, his patience starting to wear thin. “Don’t bother answering that question. You’re defenseless, so you’re not going out alone.”
“Can you let me try to help with the animals at least?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
The tired swordsman rubs his eyes and yawns, his irritation at the half-elf giving him enough energy to stay alert. “The last thing I want to do is surround you with Dark W
ind infected animals. This living curse was designed specifically for you, which means ideally you shouldn’t be exposed to it any more than you already have. That’s really impossible since the curse is in the air, but I’m going to do my best to keep you safe from other sources.”
Luke coughs and wheezes, holding his stomach as it cramps up. “There has to be something I can do.”
“I’ll talk with Timoran, who you still haven’t noticed is standing behind you. Seriously, we’ve been standing in his shadow this entire time,” Delvin says. He nods at the towering form that steps away from the tree and lets the blue moonlight cover the others. “Put the great Luke Callindor to bed, Fizzle.”
Timoran and Delvin watch the drite lead their friend back to the central tower, the forest tracker’s head hanging low. The halflings stare at the haggard warrior whenever he steps into view and several priests hurry to help when he has a violent coughing fit. It feels like an hour has passed by the time he walks out of view, his form limping into the central spire. Timoran holds up his hand to stop Delvin from talking, the barbarian straining his senses for several minutes in case Luke tries to escape again.
“I believe he is fine now,” the large warrior says as he drops his hand. “I fear Luke will be a problem until this Dark Wind situation is settled. We should head for the Cave of Winds tomorrow.”
“Priest Aneveom wanted me to visit before we go. He has something that should help us defeat the source,” Delvin replies while scratching his head with the wooden spoon. “Luke is right though. Leaving him here could bring Stephen, but we can’t let him go out alone. We need to divide our forces.”
“I will stay here with Luke and Fizzle, my friend.”
Delvin strokes his chin and nods, but the barbarian can tell that his offer has gone unheard. The shorter warrior kneels down to write each champion’s name in the snow, the letters sloppy and crude. He randomly pokes at the list while mouthing the words that are running through his mind. With a grunt, he writes Stephen’s name and proceeds to make a mess out of the list. As if the perfect plan has been made, Delvin proudly tucks the dripping spoon into his belt and rises to his feet. Glancing back at the ground, he gives a few stomps to Stephen’s name to make it nothing more than a gathering of wet footprints.
“I’m going to stay here with Nyx while you take the others to the Cave of Winds,” Delvin declares, bracing himself for the barbarian’s reaction. “Luke will go with you too.”
“I have to disagree with your plan,” Timoran states, unsure what his friend is thinking. “We would need Nyx’s magic and Luke would be a liability. If this is truly what you think is best then it is wiser to stay together.”
“The living curse is all about Stephen wanting Nyx,” the swordsman calmly explains, leveling a stern gaze at the taller man. “There’s no perfect plan here, but at least we know for a fact that Luke is going to be useless out there. Nyx could be fine or she could lock up with fear since Stephen rattled her again. Also Fizzle has to stay with Luke and Sari is refusing to leave his side when she isn’t giving Nyx a bath. That’s two casters right there and Zander gives you another warrior. I’d be of more use guarding Nyx and helping Fyric.”
The barbarian growls and hits a tree with his fist, showering himself in snow. “You know more about detailed tactics and strategy than me. If we run into trouble then your quick thinking would keep us safe. I shall stay here with Nyx.”
“Is this because you’re scared of magic?” Delvin asks. He puts up his hands and steps away when his friend glares at him. “It’s an honest question and you’ve been looking rather anxious since our night in the hills. Is the Dark Wind having an effect on you or is it because of you know what?”
Timoran brushes the snow from his hair and observes the distant moon, its blue shine reminding him of the icy landscape of his homeland. He shivers at the feel of the Compass Key’s box, the sensation barely noticeable through his clothes. The temptation to touch the container is strong, but he knows that their enemies could be spying on them right now.
“It is both, my friend,” Timoran says while mindlessly scratching an old bite mark on his forearm. “I am realizing that this path forces me to interact with more magic than I am presently comfortable with. I might even have to wield such power if I am granted a transformation like Sari.”
Delvin gives a small punch to the barbarian’s arm, the impact jarring his knuckles. “We’ll be with you when that happens. For now, I need you to be the one who leads the others to the Cave of Winds. We should think of a new name for that place. What about Gale Hollow?”
“I like it, but I still believe you would be better suited to lead them.”
“Well, I refuse.”
“Why are you being so stubborn?”
“I have my reasons.”
“You are scared to let Nyx out of your sight.”
The swordsman blushes and scratches his head, the sound of his movements seeming to echo throughout the forest. Shifting his booted feet in the snow, the warrior acts like he is trying to keep warm even though the cold is barely affecting him. Timoran’s knowing smirk does not put him at ease and he turns away to stare at the city’s central tower.
“I love Nyx and I refuse to leave her side when she needs me,” Delvin calmly explains as a feeling of relief washes over him. A nervous laugh slips from his mouth when he thinks about what he has said. “I’d be distracted and worried if I went out there, so you’re the better man for the mission. You’re physically stronger and your great axe deflects spells, which would be more use against a magical beast than my gear. As for me being smarter, I politely disagree. You’re very wise and intelligent, Timoran. Where I use my experience to guide my thoughts, you have great instincts and common sense. This is why I want you to lead the others. I know you’ll be a cautious leader who will bring everyone back safely.”
“So you have deep faith in my abilities and are in love with Nyx,” Timoran says with a wry smile. “You realize it is impossible for me to continue arguing, right? I would feel like a selfish and foolish friend.”
“That fact did cross my mind. After all, I am the strategist of our group.”
Delivering a friendly smack to the other warrior’s arm, Timoran shakes his head and walks away. He hears Delvin jogging to catch up, the thick drifts making it hard for him to move as quickly as the barbarian. A howling wind whips through the town, traces of the Dark Wind barely visible in the moonlight. The hiss of Nyx’s defensive spells fill the air as the living curse is devoured by fiery strands.
“We shall go to my room to drink and discuss the plan,” Timoran suggests as they return to the central tower.
“Good idea. You can help me come up with a better name for the Cave of Winds.”
“I do not think we are allowed to rename locations, my friend.”
The brown-haired warrior smirks as he says, “What’s the fun of being a prophesized champion if you can’t rename an ancient landmark or two?”
“For the sake of future cartographers, I will drink wild rum and you will have water.”
*****
Sitting on top of one of the more distant towers, Vile huddles within his thick cloak and removes the false eye from his irritated socket. He tucks the glass orb into his shirt pocket and puts on his eye-patch, enjoying its soft touch. The halfling warrior runs his leather gloves along his arms for warmth and to keep himself occupied as he waits. He is no longer sure what he is supposed to do now that his enemies have settled in Fyric and had a confrontation with his companions. It makes little sense for him to continue spying given they will undoubtedly be on edge and the plan has gone far enough that it cannot be disrupted. Vile gets to his feet when he hears footsteps behind him and turns with a small bow to Stephen.
“I sense you’re getting bored,” the man says as he walks to the edge of the tower. He watches the priests tending to the sick animals, a cruel grin on his face. “I love the view you’ve picked, General.”
“I am not bo
red, but concerned that my time is being wasted.”
“Then you will be happy to know that I want you to handle an assassination,” Stephen states, handing a bottle of poison to the soldier. “That’s Eblem blood, so we won’t have any problems like we did with your son. Not that I expect you to betray me. More that I love the pain this poison causes when it dissolves the arteries and veins.”
“Who’s the target?”
The nobleman pats his ally on the shoulder and licks his lips. “Either the gypsy or the mercenary. Your choice. I’ll be sending some of Trinity’s people with you. Her majesty is currently busy recovering from her punishment.”
General Vile examines the bottle of bubbling ichor and pops the cork off. Crimson vapors rise into the air as the blood foams, the sinister liquid trying to escape. Vile draws his shortsword and pours the poison into the sheath, feeling the demonic heat course through the tanned, polished leather. A muffled screech rolls from the sheath when he returns his blade, giving it a solid slam to make sure it is secured.
“I’m surprised you chose such a potent poison for those two,” Vile says as he tucks the empty bottle into his cloak pocket. “I’ll attack whichever one leaves Fyric to destroy the living curse. If both do then I’ll choose the first to let their guard down. Though I’m curious as to why you want those two champions dead or even focused on. I thought you were more interested in capturing Nyx or Luke Callindor.”
“They attacked me and made me mad,” Stephen growls. The night grows still and silence coats the town as time slows to a crawl. “I need to show these champions that they should fear me. Sari and Delvin have each struck me twice, so one of them will be the lesson. I’ll only allow Nyx to get away with laying her hands on me.”
“How would my actions prove that you’re a force to be feared?” the halfling inquires, refusing to shy away when his ally glares at him. The old soldier rolls his eye and cracks his knuckles, annoyed that there is more to this assassination than killing. “I can tell them that you sent me as your agent and they’re not worth your time and energy. I’ll work on a speech that sounds like something you would have me say. Yet that does not make this much of an assassination since stealth should be maintained. Maybe leaving a scroll and forging your signature would be best. Not that they would know the real one on sight.”
Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) Page 15