“Sorry about that,” she says with a yawn. “What is this?”
“You know those black and white animals that wander Fyric?” the warrior casually asks as he joins the caster on the large tree stump. He sees the look of disgust on her face and cannot stop himself from chuckling. “I’m only kidding, Nyx. It’s venison jerky, potatoes, and carrots. They’re making simple meals to extend their resources. No telling how much longer this living curse is going to last.”
Nyx eats the lukewarm stew in silence, her thoughts drifting to their distant friends. She has tried to use scrying spells on them a few times, but each attempt has been thwarted by Delvin interrupting her. Bags are under her eyes and her hair is a mess with downy feathers sticking out in every direction. She slumps forward and nearly topples to the ground, the young woman only waking up when the stew sloshes onto her hand.
“You’re going to bed after you eat,” Delvin states, handing Nyx a piece of hot bread. He dunks his own slice into the stew and takes a greedy bite, moaning at the delicious warmth running down his throat. “We’re both exhausted and worried, so I’ll probably sleep with you.”
“What was that?”
“Exactly what you heard, but not what you think I meant. I don’t have the energy for our usual sparring.”
“I’ll behave,” the half-elf promises, a few tears carving trails in the dirt on her face. “Do you think they’re going to be okay?”
Delvin sighs and goes back to his meal, offering a decanter of wine to Nyx. She pushes it away, so he shrugs and takes a deep drink. He licks his lips and makes a show of enjoying the sweet alcohol, shaking the container in front of her. With a defeated groan, she takes the wine and matches his long pull on the decanter. Delvin chuckles when Nyx lets out a whimper and turns the empty bottle upside down.
“I figured we’d both be in the mood to overdo it, so I prepared,” he says as he finishes his meal and drops the bowl on the ground. Lying back with his hands behind his head, the warrior stares at the distant, curse-fringed clouds. “You know they’re going to be okay. Even without your magic and my mind, our friends are a force to be reckoned with. I’m sure we’ll be seeing them before the morning.”
“It’s hard not being by their side.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Then why are you keeping us here?”
Delvin takes the young woman by the hand and eases her down so she is lying next to him on the stump. “Because I don’t want you to be scared and hurt again. I know that’s unavoidable in our line of work, but I refuse to let you go into danger so soon after facing Stephen. I can feel your pulse quickening at the mention of his name, which means you need a break. More importantly, whoever is with you needs to be able to focus entirely on protecting you. If we’re trying to defend you and Luke at the same time then one of you will fall. The rest of us aren’t strong enough to pull off that level of defense against Stephen.”
“You have such little faith in us,” Nyx scoffs, pulling her hand away and sitting up. She puts her bowl to her lips and drains her stew, covering her mouth to muffle a small burp. “There has to be a way for us to defeat Stephen. Gabriel wouldn’t put someone like him in our path unless we could win.”
“It’s possible he’s supposed to push us to our potential. If we can defeat him then we have a better chance against the Baron. I’m sure Gabriel has his reasons for forging the destiny of that monster.”
“Unless the Baron made him during his exile and Gabriel has nothing to do with it,” the half-elf argues, shying away from the stern look of her friend. “I’m only saying that we can’t keep thinking Gabriel has control over everything. He even admitted that he can’t predict all events and isn’t sure how this will end. I still fear that I’m slated to die at the hands of the Baron if we make it that far.”
“You’ll be fine, Nyx,” Delvin assures her. He cringes at the popping in his back when he rocks to a sitting position. “The Baron will have to go through the rest of us to get to you. If anything, a warrior like me is more likely to die.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“I’m not loving my own logic either.”
The crunching of snow under booted feet and a raspy cough makes the pair jump. Nyx already has fire dancing along her fingertips before she sees the fur-covered figure. Horizontal ears poke out of holes in a thick cowl, their tips twitching to stay warm. The gray-skinned orc holds his gloved hands up when he sees the fire, waiting patiently for the caster to put her magic away. When she does, he gets close enough for them to see his wrinkled face and kind, orange eyes beneath the cowl. The stranger pats the hilts of two bone swords that are strapped to his belt and rubs their pommels against his palms in a familiar gesture.
“My name is Rutik and I am looking for those in charge,” the orc declares, bowing at the waist. “I have urgent news to deliver.”
“Don’t tell me the Dark Wind is getting worse,” Nyx groans as she gets to her feet. The feel of snow slipping into her boots makes her shiver and curse. “Next winter, we’re staying in a big city for the entire season. I don’t care if our enemies are on the move. Cold ankles and soaked toes have to be two of the most uncomfortable sensations in the world.”
“I apologize for her. Our friends are at Gale Hollow to destroy the source of the living curse,” Delvin politely explains. He notices the confused look on Rutik’s face and flashes him a friendly smile. “Gale Hollow sounds better than Cave of Winds. Anyway, everything is under control.”
Understanding dawns on the orc’s face and he breathes a sigh of relief. “That explains one of my brethren with the poacher, barbarian, and gypsy. I am a fellow forest tracker and I saw the young man that you call a friend. He looked dreadful, so I was concerned and decided to trail them. Then things became chaotic with a wyvern attacking. Maybe you are the ones who should hear this more than the mayor and priests.”
“Are our friends okay?” Nyx nervously asks.
Rutik sits cross-legged on the cold ground and shifts his furs until he is comfortable. The orc scoops some snow into his hand and drops it in his mouth, the cold water feeling blissful to his parched throat. His raspy breathing fills the silence and he swallows a few cashews that he draws from a pouch in his glove.
“Please let us know what’s going on, sir,” Delvin says, hiding his growing concern. He places a gentle hand on Nyx’s shoulder, but pulls back when it feels like his skin is about to burn. “We need to know if they need our help.”
“I wish I had a clear answer for you,” Rutik says, reaching out to take the stew bowls. He licks the remains out of the wooden dishes and hands them to the adventurers. “I came to Fyric as soon as I saw a band of chaos elves tracking your friends. They were being led by a one-eyed halfling warrior. It was obvious they were waiting for a chance to strike. I lost both groups when the wyvern attacked and felt it best to come here. The chaos elves may be the start of a larger invasion like the one that occurred in Gaia.”
Delvin and Nyx exchange worried glances before he gently takes her by the wrist. He grins at the defiant look on the half-elf’s face, her body becoming hot again. Grimacing from the mild pain, he grabs some snow and presses it onto her skin. Nyx stops her spell and lets her arm fall limp at her side, knowing that she cannot get to her friends in time.
“The chaos elves are after our friends. We’re worried about them, so this news makes us want to go to their side,” Delvin explains to the confused orc. He tosses a piece of jerky to the stranger whose stomach is still rumbling. “For reasons that it’s best you not know, we have to stay here while they stop the Dark Wind. Our enemies have created this living curse as a trap for the forest tracker that we travel with. That halfling is a dangerous warrior, but I know the barbarian has fending him off before.”
Rutik swallows another handful of snow, his eyes bulging from the sudden headache. “There is more, my friend. I do not know if this is friend, foe, or nothing. Someone or something else is on the hunt. I sense that i
t is unnatural, but the malice I feel from its presence is not directed at your friends. Not all of it anyway. There’s a maelstrom of conflicting emotions in this creature that is palpable in its scent.”
“It could be Stephen, but I doubt it,” the warrior replies, stroking his chin. He moves his arm around Nyx’s shoulders, subtly holding her in place. “Whatever it is, I’m sure our friends can handle it. Maybe it’s nothing more than another infected creature that got curious.”
“Thank you for letting us know, sir,” the caster whispers as she slips from Delvin’s grasp. “I’m going to get some sleep. Don’t follow.”
“Oh come on, Nyx!” her friend shouts while hurriedly shaking the orc’s hand. He chases after her as she whips up the snow between them.
Waiting for the adventurers to be out of sight, Rutik stands and the creaking of his cold joints startles some nearby tapirs. Bowing an apology to the beasts, he jogs back into the forest where a slender figure is leaning against an oak. Trinity is gently stroking the white fur of a shivering bunny, the animal perking up when it sees the orc. She places the squealing beast on the ground and watches it bound into the open arms of the forest tracker.
“I’m sorry I had to take your friend, but I doubt you would have helped me otherwise,” Trinity states, bravely approaching the orc. She stops when he draws one of his blades and points it at her. “So have they taken the bait?”
The forest tracker kisses the rabbit on the head and scratches its chin. “They refuse to leave Fyric. They have complete faith in their friends.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised, but Stephen isn’t in the mood to listen to me,” the chaos elf groans while running an ivory comb through her hair. “Guess we’ll have to move on to stage two of our plan anyway. I’m fine with it since I was the one who dealt with those titans and sent a special servant into the Garden of Uli. That’s where the real fun is going to be had, especially for Luke Callindor.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I feel like gloating and you’re not going to remember any of it.”
Purple energy snakes from the enhancer gems in her palms and wraps around Rutik’s thick neck. They force him to look at Trinity’s face, which is shimmering with a pleasant aura. She puts her hands on his rough cheeks and rubs the fangs of his pronounced jaws with her thumbs. The orc falls into a trance as the gem in the chaos elf’s forehead swirls and hums. With a soft flash of light, he goes limp and she eases his heavy body to the ground. The rabbit sits atop Rutik’s heaving chest and cowers in an attempt to hide from the grinning caster
“Don’t worry, little one,” she coos while patting the animal on the head. She waves her hand and a cloak of translucent magic drifts over the prone warrior. “That should keep both of you safe from prying senses and hungry mouths. Your friend will be awake within a few minutes. Be a dear and don’t tell him about me. Otherwise, I’ll have to eat you. Good-bye, little bunny.”
The rabbit nods as if it understands and Trinity kisses it on the nose before vanishing from sight.
*****
Sari tightens the blanket around Luke and places her frost-covered hand against his hot forehead. Within seconds, her palm is sweating and she has to remove it to let the chilly wind cool her down. The gypsy raises the groaning warrior’s head to pour some herbal water into his mouth and tenderly clamps his jaw shut to make sure he swallows. The drink relaxes his muscles and his sounds of discomfort melt into incoherent mumbling. Sari pulls some dried meat and cranberries out of her pocket, the roaring of her stomach urging her to eat. Her lower back aches from being hunched over Luke and she tries to loosen her muscles by slowly dancing among the nearby trees. The spin of her skirts kicks up the snow, which spirals around her without touching her skin.
“It must be in our blood to dance when upset,” says a male voice from where Luke is resting.
The gypsy whirls around and flings a stiletto at the middle-aged man sitting next to the snoring half-elf. The weapon passes harmlessly through the stranger’s head and thuds into a slender tree. As if the attack ruined his hair, the man fixes his neat black tresses with a simple brush. He gracefully hops to his feet and adjusts his royal blue tunic, making sure the ornamental collar is centered on his throat. Spinning his arm, the phantom sends the stiletto toward Sari and slips the hilt into her hand.
“I’m surprised to have run into you. In fact, I’m surprised to even exist,” the ghost admits with a charming smile. His green eyes shimmer with warmth, putting the girl at ease. “I thought I would be locked up for so much longer. Maybe seeing you in distress woke me early. Now that I look at you, I can see some resemblance to Metis. At least when she turned human, but I always saw her as the beautiful naiad she was.”
“You’re my ancestor,” Sari says, doubt dripping from her words. She jumps back when the man bows to her, his head passing through the bed. “No sudden movements because this is strange. I can understand part of Metis being inside me, but you’re a human. Well you’re a ghost now, but I doubt you had enough magic to bond with your bloodline when you were alive. No offense, sir.”
“Who said I was coming from you?”
“Then . . . where?”
“That’s something even I’m not sure about.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
The phantom drifts closer, cornering Sari against a tree. “It is what it is. We don’t have a lot of time to converse. So I would appreciate it if you stopped asking questions and let me say what I have to say. I’m here to help after all.”
The blue-haired gypsy cautiously watches the specter, her eyes hunting for any sign of deception. For a brief moment his features shift and twist, masking whatever dark emotion flickers in his pupils. She curses when she realizes that she cannot read him, the ghost’s demeanor a confusing storm to her instincts. Drawing a second dagger, she spins both weapons and circles around the specter to stand near Luke.
“It’s possible I’m exhausted and subconsciously created you,” Sari says more to herself than the phantom. “Then again, you’re acting too independent to be an illusion. Do you know why you’re here?”
The ghost appears on the other side of Luke and bends down to examine the half-elf’s flushed face “It’s a shame you’re following in my footsteps. We both fell in love with people who will cause us pain in the end. Don’t give me such a shocked expression. He may choose the other and your heart will be torn asunder. The Callindor may even die today and again you will be left crying. Relationships for our family are risky and have a history of ending poorly.”
“My parents were great together.”
“They were also devoured by zombies, which proves my point,” the phantom bluntly states. Pain flashes across his face at the emergence of an old memory. “Did you notice that the entry about me in your bloodline diary never mentions my name? It fails to tell how my story ended too.”
“I don’t like where this is going.”
“Our family saw me as a disgrace after a certain incident,” the man explains, tucking his hands in his pockets. His voice turns into a garble of noise as he continues speaking, the words returning without him noticing they were ever gone. “As expected, the family refused to support me and sided with the Grand Matron. Metis passed every test and was allowed to die from their selfish decisions. I would like to say that nobody could blame me for being angry and wanting to prevent it from ever happening again. True, I may have gone too far, but I made my bed of bones and I’ve been comfortably sleeping in it ever since.”
Sari eyes the ghost suspiciously and waves the stiletto at him, knowing how ridiculous she may look. “Your voice cut out, so I missed the actual story. Did you do that on purpose or are you forbidden from speaking about it?”
The handsome man is about to speak when his attention is drawn away. His body flickers as he appears to watch something in the distance. Sari follows his gaze in time to see a shadowy figure dart behind a tree. Another flits across a gap in the fore
st, the slender form carrying a curved blade and shield. Expecting the phantom to be gone when she looks back, she yelps in surprise when he is standing within inches of her.
“It would appear we’ve run out of time,” he declares with a sigh. He walks through Luke, shivering from the touch of the half-elf’s infection. “General Vile and a group of chaos elves are after you. I’m sure they’re here to kill you and the Callindor. If this works out, you’ll avenge your murdered clan. Thought you should get a warning before I left. Too bad we didn’t have any more time to chat.”
“Tell me your name,” Sari demands as she moves away from Luke. Her emerald eyes follow the dark forms, but she is unable to tell how many enemies she is facing. “I’d really appreciate knowing who you are since we’re family.”
“It might not be the best time.”
“It might be the only time.”
“Very well, but I tried to warn you,” the phantom states, his body fading away. He bows and his eyes erupt into crimson orbs. “My name is Tyler.”
Sari is caught off-guard when the chaos elves charge, her mind reeling from the ghost’s final word. The assassins are nearly upon the gypsy when the snow swirls and rises into a wave that pushes them back. Shaking her head clear, Sari darts to the side and hurls a dagger into an enemy’s chest. The others give chase as she uses the snow and ice to glide out of reach, the gypsy never straying very far from her helpless friend. Ducking under a wide slash of a cutlass, she slips her hand into a snowdrift and flicks her fingers. A lance of ice spirals out of the ground and impales the nearest assassin through the throat. Spinning around the falling body, she throws another dagger at a female chaos elf that is approaching Luke. The weapon hits the swordswoman in the head, dropping her at the base of a tree.
“Leave us alone!” Sari desperately screams, charging the nearest enemy.
The gypsy’s opponent parries her stiletto and strikes her in the head with his shield. He hesitates long enough for Sari to drive the hilt of her weapon into his groin. Feeling groggy and her vision swimming, she stumbles away from the collapsing chaos elf. She awkwardly dodges a hurled spear, the crude head grazing her side. The weaponless assassin rushes forward and leaps to tackle her to the ground. He feels his shoulder dislocate when he hits the immovable gypsy, so he attempts to roll away. Before the warrior can get to his feet, the snow around him turns into a toothy maw and swallows him whole.
Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) Page 20