“Thank you, old man. I knew I could count on you,” the nobleman replies before he snaps his fingers and Fyric returns to normal. “Return to camp when your job is done and they’ve finished at the Cave of Winds. Oh, and see if you can make your target suffer. I want to taste their screams on the breeze.”
Stephen vanishes from the rooftop, leaving General Vile to go back to watching the healers and guards. He is surprised to see one of the priests wave at him, but hears someone yell out a window a few floors below his perch. Realizing his nerves are on edge, Vile retreats to the middle of the roof and pulls his cloak tight around his body. The fabric shimmers and he merges with the shadows, allowing the old solider to fall into a restless sleep. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels like he is missing something important.
8
“The journey shouldn’t take you more than a few hours,” John says while the adventurers prepare their horses. Standing on a tall stool, the priest carefully examines Luke to make sure the half-elf is strong enough to travel. “Once you reach the Cave of Winds-”
“Gale Hollow,” Delvin corrects the halfling. The warrior plucks a piece of hay from a bale and casually chews on the end. He leans against the door of a stall, giving its tenant the chance to snatch the snack from his mouth.
“I said we’ll talk about that later,” John replies with a friendly smirk. He uses a shining wand of metal to peer inside Luke’s open mouth, grimacing at the sight. “There’s gray ooze all over his throat, which is why he’s wheezing. I’ll get you a purification bucket for him to use if he needs relief. That should prevent him from spreading the variation of Dark Wind that’s inside him. Whatever you do, don’t let this kid go into Gale Hollow. Guess that name does grow on you after several hours of pestering.”
“What’s the point of me going if I’m not entering the caves?” Luke asks before a coughing fit wracks his body.
“If things work the way we hope then the infected who are nearest to the source will recover first,” the wild-haired priest patiently explains, feeling the forest tracker’s neck. He jerks his hands away at the sensation of something crawling beneath the pale skin. “You’re more susceptible to the Dark Wind than any other living thing. So it’s best that you start your recovery as soon as possible. By that same thought, I’m sure entering the caves will kill you immediately because the curse will be highly concentrated there.”
Luke sighs and reaches out to grip Sari’s hand, his cloudy eyes taking in the fuzzy sight of the worried gypsy. A shiver runs down his spine as he hears a weak voice, but it is too far away for him to make out the words. Realizing it is the griffin spirit, he tries to focus on the talon necklace hanging around his neck. The voice fades before he can concentrate, leaving an emptiness in his stomach.
“I understand,” Luke whispers as he meets the priest’s concerned gaze. “The griffin spirit is very weak and I don’t want to put her life in danger. I’ll behave and not cause any trouble for my friends.”
“Does that include me?” Zander asks from atop his borrowed mount.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Slender arms wrap around Luke’s chest and someone places their head against the middle of his back. It confuses him because he is still holding onto Sari’s hand and the gypsy is anxiously bouncing on her toes. A soothing warmth rolls through his lungs and throat, dissolving the gunk that has gathered inside. For the first time in days, Luke is able to inhale deeply without setting off a coughing fit.
“Thanks, Nyx. That should give me an hour or two of easy breathing,” he says, patting her hands as she lets go. He turns to face the caster, allowing Sari to protectively hug him from behind. “I know we’ve gone into danger separately before, but it feels really weird this time around.”
“Stephen force choice,” Fizzle claims as he lands on the forest tracker’s head. He stretches his wings and shivers in the cool morning air. “Luke and Nyx in danger. This time not able save each other. Capture of Luke controls Nyx. Capture of Nyx lead to capture of Luke.”
The blonde half-elf scratches the drite on the snout and sighs. “You’re right, Fizzle. Still, I wish you were coming with us, big sister.”
“I want to go, but Delvin is right. I might lock up if Stephen attacks, which puts everyone in danger,” Nyx says as tears roll down her cheeks. “I feel useless and I don’t have the excuse of my aura going dormant. It’s all me being a cowardly child who won’t suck up her problems to save her little brother.”
“Sorry for being blunt here, but Stephen is trying to rape and control you, Nyxie,” Sari states, detaching from Luke and embracing her oldest friend. Feeling the tension in the other woman’s body, she kisses her to deliver a calming spell. “I want you to stay here where it’s relatively safe. Stephen would bring too much attention to himself and his plans if he attacked you in Fyric. If you’re looking for something to distract yourself with, make me more magical dresses.”
“Don’t you have enough?”
Sari breaks the hug and scratches her head, a perplexed look on her face. “I don’t understand the question.”
“I’d like to talk to Timoran and Fizzle in private,” John politely requests, walking to the far end of the stables.
The barbarian pats his muscular horse on the neck and follows the priest, nodding to Delvin who watches with curiosity. Fizzle flies over to a barrel, landing on the rim and squealing when he sees there are blue apples inside. He bends down to grab one, but flutters off his perch when a wooly tapir approaches. The drite stares at the odd beast as he returns to the barrel, the two sniffing at each other.
“Strange horse want apple,” the dragon mentions to John. “Can Fizzle feed?”
“Only one.”
The drite nods emphatically and searches for the biggest apple in the barrel. The curious tapir bats at Fizzle’s dangling tail, patiently waiting for the snack. With a longing whimper, Fizzle gives the juicy snack to the friendly beast and watches it run out of the stables with its prize. He huffs out a wisp of rainbow smoke and hunts for his own apple, the drite forgetting the real reason he is there.
“I’m serious about keeping your friend out of the . . . whatever,” John whispers, leaning toward the barbarian. He glances at the forest tracker who is still pale and looking like he will collapse any moment. “I don’t even know how close he can get to the caves. Pay close attention to his condition and leave him behind with someone if he takes a turn for the worse. I would suggest the gypsy because you will need Fizzle’s magic.”
“Luke only last for hour without Fizzle,” the drite states, his mouth full of apple. “After he get sick fast.”
“I hope that is enough time,” Timoran says, looking back to watch Delvin and Sari help Luke onto a horse. “How big are the Caves of Wind or Gale Hollow or whatever we are calling it now?”
The tired priest runs a hand through his unkempt, ivory hair as he chooses his words carefully. “Nobody knows. Before you jump to conclusions, it isn’t that people go in and never come out. There has never been a reason to venture into the caves and nobody in recent history has ever made a map of the interior. I assume there was a map made before the Great Cataclysm, but it’s been lost. That’s if it ever existed in the first place. So nobody knows the size of the caves or even what lives inside.”
“We will have to tread carefully, but time will be important. I do not like how this task is turning out, especially since Stephen can attack Sari and Luke when they are alone.”
“I agree that too much can go wrong, but it would appear that you and your friends are being left with very few options,” John points out, hoping his honesty will put the champion at ease. “I will pray to Neberith the Healing Goddess and Kerr the Barbarian God for your victory and survival. It may not be much, but every little effort helps.”
“Thank you, sir. May your voice be heard and accepted by the gods.”
“How we stop curse?” Fizzle asks, excitedly waving his tail. He hops up and down on the bar
rel as his worry increases. “Killing source good. Dark Wind may not die fast. That bad for Luke and animals.”
The priest draws a clear gem from his robes, the pristine facets resembling fragile glass. He breathes on the top of the beautiful stone, which releases a faint smell. It is an aroma that is vaguely familiar to Timoran and he struggles to remember it as the mild stink of the stables disappears. When the smell is strong enough for everyone to notice, the barbarian recognizes it as fresh mint and frowns as the powerful odor grips his sensitive nose. His brow furrows when John places the gem in his palm and closes the warrior’s hand around it.
“I do not like magic and I do not enjoy mint,” Timoran says, causing the halfling to chuckle.
John takes the gem back and holds it up to the barbarian’s face, slowly turning it for him to see every edge. “Delvin told me about your aversion to magic, but I assure you that this is a natural creation. These crystals are found near the entrance to the Cave of Winds. We believe they exist to purify or strengthen the wind as it emerges. If air with a pleasant scent touches them, they enhance the smell. For example, I recently had some of my favorite tea, which is why you smelled mint after I breathed on the crystal. Unfortunately, they don’t fight against living curses like the Dark Wind, which is why they’re not curing the epidemic.”
“I am confused. If these do nothing to help then why are you giving me one?”
The halfling tosses the gem back to Timoran, who catches it and tucks it into his pocket. Taking off his glasses, the priest rubs his eyes and yawns. John can feel the stress of the last few days catching up with him, the fatigue making it difficult to collect his thoughts. Fizzle sends a puff of rainbow mist at the blue-robed priest, the cloud clearing his mind.
“Thank you, Fizzle,” he says with a genuine smile and renewed fire in his eyes. He can see the doubt on Timoran’s face and creates the best explanation he can think of without confusing the barbarian. “This is a complicated longshot to help weaken the Dark Wind once the source is gone. The air is always moving within Gale Hollow, so a crystal used within the caves could have a continuous or at least a long-term reaction. My hope is that whatever scent is in the wind will be rapidly enhanced by additional crystals found inside. By the time it leaves the caves, the scent will be very potent and have the strength to carry across the region. Don’t underestimate the effect a soothing scent has on the sick. I’ve used incense to relax patients and give them extra strength. I trust you to choose a strong smell that will keep the infected energized while the Dark Wind is eradicated. If you can think of something that will destroy the curse then that would be even better.”
A wide grin appears on Timoran’s face as he takes a dented flask off his belt. “I have some Ifrit mead with me. That should be strong enough to give the Dark Wind a fight and the smell is very invigorating. Thank you, my friend.”
“I should thank you and your friends,” the priest says while he shakes the warrior’s hand. They walk back to the others, who are already on their horses. “Without all of you, we’d be fighting a losing battle. I hope you return victorious by the evening. May Neberith heal your wounds and erase your pain.”
“I really hope we have it easy until we reach the Cave of Winds,” Sari admits as she hands Timoran the reins of his horse. The gypsy points an ice-covered finger at Delvin when he opens his mouth. “I know you want me to say Gale Hollow. Utter a word about it and I will freeze your lips shut, Cunningham.”
“Hold onto that fire, little lady, and we’ll be fine,” Zander claims, urging his mount to turn around.
Sari’s eyebrow arches as she shoots the monster hunter an incredulous look. “I remember the days when I was that naïve. Ah, the ignorance of youth. Bring on the disaster, Gabriel. I know you’re planning something.”
*****
The horses shriek as they charge through the snow, the beasts struggling to weave among the bare trees. Their riders duck to avoid getting slapped in the face by thin branches, but they still wince when they feel the sharp whips to their covered bodies. A gurgling hiss and the sound of wings beating the thick treetops is getting closer every second. With an echoing roar, a barbed tail swings over Zander’s head and shatters an oak. The monster hunter twists back to blindly fire an arrow, cursing at the sound of his shot bouncing off armored scales.
Timoran draws his great axe and urges his thundering steed to move away from his companions, hoping to draw their pursuer’s attention. He glances over his shoulder to see that the wyvern is cautiously flying high above the trees. The reptilian beast’s murky eyes are locked on Zander, but the creature rapidly blinks as if it can barely see. Folding its leathery wings, the wyvern dips low enough to scratch the treetops with its snout and belly. With a frustrated snort, it lifts back into the air where a coughing fit causes it to fly erratically.
“The wyvern is not doing well,” the barbarian announces, stopping his brave steed to let the others pull ahead. “I will take up the rear guard. Zander will fire if he has an opening. Sari and Fizzle will protect Luke, but avoid using magic. Our enemies could be watching, so we need to stay discreet and retain the element of surprise.”
“You realize we have a wyvern chasing us, right? Do you honestly think your enemies won’t notice this, but a few bursts of magic will draw their attention?” Zander asks. He takes another blind shot, the glistening arrow slicing through the creature’s ankle. “Looks like the thing is panicked and has its defenses up. All of the impenetrable scales have been moved to the torso and skull to protect the vitals from injury.”
“I told you something would happen,” Sari says, her arms locked to prevent Luke from falling off the horse.
“You’re proud of this?” the monster hunter asks in shock.
“I would have been worried if we got to Gale Hollow without trouble,” she admits with an awkward smile. Unfreezing one of her arms, she waves her hand and sends a billowing cloud of snow into the face of the approaching wyvern. “How are you doing, Luke?”
“I keep thinking my fingernails are slipping off,” the half-elf whispers, shuddering in disgust.
With a wild roar, the enraged predator crashes through the treetops and slams into the frozen earth. Branches stick out of the soft parts of the beast’s body, amber blood flowing onto the snow. A mournful sound rolls from the wyvern’s mouth as it staggers to its feet and folds its wings against its body. The leather cracks and splinters from the stress of being bent, black mist drifting from the damage. Cocking its head to the side, the diseased creature listens for the horses and breaks into a stumbling run when one whinnies.
The muffled steps of the wyvern follow the travelers as they charge through the forest. It is unable to catch up, but the desperate predator musters enough strength to remain on the heels of its potential meal. An arrow slams into the creature’s right eye, causing it to shriek and smash several trees with its barbed tail. Enraged by the pain, the wyvern sprints forward and gets dangerously close to Timoran’s horse. Its mouth opens to reveal rows of blackened teeth and it is about to bite into the steed’s rump when a cloud of rainbow smoke engulfs its face. Confused and startled, the predator crashes into a solid maple and topples onto its side.
“We not have long,” Fizzle announces as he lands behind the barbarian. “Curse take over near-dragon. Resist Fizzle breath and return.”
“Every second helps,” Timoran states as they round a bend. He sheathes his great axe and relaxes when they pass under a tight network of branches that goes on for miles. “The wyvern will attempt to find us from the sky. Even if it knows where we are, it cannot break through such a thick canopy without risking damage to its limbs and wings.”
“The beast didn’t seem to mind before,” Zander interrupts, his longbow ready for the slightest sign of danger. “It’s going to be really angry when it finds us again.”
“He has a point, Timoran,” Luke says with a yawn that becomes a cough. “That wyvern will smash into here once it smells us. It’s scared a
nd crazed because it doesn’t know what’s happening to its body.”
Sari slips the reins into Luke’s hands and softly chants in a musical voice. Snow rises from the soil and whirls around the horses’ feet, causing them to nervously whinny. Drifting toward the canopy, the mass of flakes stick to the branches and becomes a thick covering. Their path is cloaked in darkness, so Fizzle flies a few feet ahead, his body shining to light the way. A savage gust of wind shakes the treetops and the sound of crunching snow echoes throughout the dark tunnel.
“This should keep us safe,” Sari whispers before going back to her chanting.
“I think the wyvern passed overhead,” Zander says, relaxing his bowstring. He takes a deep breath, but finds that he cannot bring himself to put his weapon away. “It’s only a matter of time before it figures out where we are and attacks. Those things aren’t stupid. Couldn’t you play nice with it like the other one, Timoran?”
“This one is too far gone,” the barbarian replies. He rides alongside Sari and Luke, leaning over to get a better look at the half-elf. “Your skin is turning pale again. I worry that we are bringing you too close to the living curse’s source. How is your strength, my friend?”
“He’ll probably lie,” Zander interrupts with a scoffing snort.
“I trust him to be honest.”
The trees shake as the wyvern passes again, the beast’s mournful call sounding as if it is miles away. With nervous snickers, the horses stop and refuse to take another step. Even Timoran feels an anxiety grip his stomach, a primal sense of danger driving him to be extremely careful. The wyvern flies overhead again and the travelers swear the predator is crying in an oddly human voice.
Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) Page 16