"Look at it, Sue," he said through clenched teeth. "Look at its head."
"Wow," Nixy said, seeing what he was talking about. The dark green head at the end of the cute, furry, leaf-colored body was gnashing two long, needle-like fangs up and down. Even from the sky, Braxton was able to focus on the tiny drops of amber venom forming at their tips.
"This is what drove a man crazy enough to kill his companion." Vinston-Fret's voice sounded soothing as he spoke into Suclair's ear, but he still hadn't let her go.
Suclair, after seeing what he was talking about, looked terrified.
"I'm sorry if I scared you. I didn't want it to bite you." Vinston-Fret let go of her and stepped toward the creature.
"It is quite beautiful, though." He jerked his arrow from the tree and slung the venomous butterfly away. "It's a shame," he mumbled as he led them back to the rest of the group.
Sometime later, Darblin spoke quietly to Nixy.
"These things work pretty good at keeping the thorns off," he said it with a grimace on his face. He rubbed at his inner bicep. "But it will be some time before me arms get used to them. It seems I've been rubbed raw."
"Me too," Big H added with a sheepish grin, "but I'd rather be rubbed raw than full of them itchy thorn holes."
"Well said," Darblin commented, then turned back to Nixy. "I guess what I'm trying to say in me grumbling sort of way is, thank ye."
Nixy's smile was broad. "You're welcome, Prince Darblin. It's not every day a simple orphan girl gets to tailor for true royalty."
Darblin looked at his boots and what might have been a blush flashed across his gnarled face. "It's not every day a prince gets to be tailored by such a pretty swordswoman."
"Be careful, Prince Darblin," Big H joked. "Her beau might turn ye into a cricket."
"That boy has had his head in the clouds for days," Darblin started. "If I had a girl like Lady Nixy here, I would—"
Vinston-Fret called for quiet. Apparently, something was up ahead that spooked him for his expression was intense and full of fear. He motioned for them to duck into the undergrowth. No sooner had they done so did a huge, lumbering wood troll came crunching through the trees right in front of them.
The troll stopped and looked around, sniffing at the air. It took in a deep breath and gave out a long series of deep guttural barking sounds. Clearly it had their scent for it turned its huge body in their direction and looked right at where they were crouched.
Braxton realized a few things at once. The first was that the wood troll was half again taller than he was. The second was that he could have warned the others, for he’d known it was out there for some time. Thirdly, his body, unlike the others, was just standing there. Instinctually he stayed in the hawk's form though, and attacked before it started toward him and stepped on one of his friends in the process.
Nixy and Darblin noticed Braxton at the same time, and only Nixy's quick reflexes saved Darblin from knocking Braxton out of his entranced state. Confused at being pulled back when he was only trying to save the boy, the dwarf turned to Nixy with wide, questioning eyes.
"Look," she whispered. Braxton was semi-translucent as if he was made from mist. He was there, but not there, and only someone who knew exactly where to look would even be able to pick him out of the surroundings.
The troll started toward them, but a white hawk streaked by its face, raking its eyes. The troll batted at it and roared. Staying just out of the reach of the creature's flailing arms, the bird fluttered and dodged and clawed at it relentlessly.
The hawk flew a few feet away from the others and landed on a low limb. The troll wiped at one of its eyes, and Nixy saw it had been wounded. Instead of continuing to come toward them, it charged after the bird, which stayed out of its reach and led it farther and farther away. Eventually, the sound of the forest being crunched and broken faded, then a sudden pain filled howl came from the direction the troll had gone.
Braxton solidified and let out a huff. Nixy thought he might have laughed if Sorrell hadn't just died the night before.
"It's dead," Braxton explained, trying hard to keep his pride from showing.
"Arghhh," Darblin grumbled and made his way around Braxton to get to Big H.
"What's with him?" Braxton asked Nixy, who stared at him blankly, as were the others. Braxton looked at them. "What?"
"Warn us next time," Vinston-Fret said harshly.
"But didn't you see the hawk?" Braxton's voice was defensive. "I led the troll away."
"Well, what if you hadn't?" Vinston-Fret asked. "You had plenty of time to warn us. I saw the hawk circling something above just a few moments ago. If that was you and your magic, then you had plenty of time to tell us." With that, he turned and started the group back in the direction they'd been heading.
Nixy eyed Braxton, wondering why he hadn't warned them. Vinston-Fret was right, but Braxton couldn't seem to suppress the smile on his face.
"I led him right into a gully, Nix," Braxton said as he turned her in the right direction and resumed with the group. "It broke at least one leg, maybe both in the fall. It cannot follow us."
"Evening is fast approaching," Vinston-Fret said over his shoulder. "I want to find a real clearing before dark catches up with us."
"So that was you? The hawk?" Nixy asked before Suclair could start in with her questions.
"I'm not sure if it was really me or not," Braxton said, still trying to suppress his grin, "but it was me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Nixy asked sharply.
"He means," Suclair interrupted, "that he was inside the white hawk, controlling it, but it was only part of his mind doing so, it wasn't really him."
"No, Suclair," Braxton responded. "I think that it was me. I think I am the white hawk. It exists as a projection of my mind. It's not a real hawk. At least, I don’t think so."
Nixy knew Suclair would take over the interrogation now and listened as she did.
Braxton thought about it for a while and shook his head when Suclair asked her next question. "I'm not going to answer you until I figure it out for myself," he told her.
Now that he was thinking about it, he wondered what would happen if the hawk was killed? Will I die, too? And what about his body while he was flying with the hawk? A few dozen questions came to him all at once, and he vowed to read more of Taerak's journal each evening and morning in hopes of figuring it out. He was so lost in thought that when they started making camp, he went through the motions without knowing he was doing so. It wasn't until Nixy handed him a cup of broth and a piece of hard bread that he realized he was sitting cross legged on his bedroll by a large fire.
"Only two watches tonight," Vinston-Fret said after everyone had eaten. "If you are not on watch, you are to stay next to the fire. And if you are on watch, you will sit evenly spaced with your back to it and watch not only the forest but the ground, as well." Vinston-Fret placed his hand on Cryelos's shoulder. "I don't want another one of us to come to harm for not being prepared."
"Or from not being alert," Cryelos added in a way that suggested he wasn't feeling as guilty as he had been earlier.
"Braxton, Cryelos, and Big H will have first watch," Vinston-Fret said. "That is if no one objects. The rest of us should try and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be just as trying as today, and we'll have to do it on only a half night's sleep."
Two long, tiring, and uneventful days later, in the early morning near the end of the second watch, Suclair spoke to Vinston-Fret.
"I think maybe I can feel it now," she told him after returning from the woods to relieve herself. "It's that way," she pointed to the northwest.
"Are you sure?" Vinston-Fret asked. "Why would you wait until now to say something?"
"Well, I'm not certain," she said. "I felt something most of yesterday, but I wasn't sure. Now, after thinking about it, what I'm feeling is something very powerful. It is radiating magic from that direction." She pointed again. "Whether it is the Sapphire of Souls or not,
I cannot say."
Vinston-Fret was hopeful. According to his father's notes, it was after four days of skirting the river that they turned to the northwest, so Suclair's feelings were in concert with what they knew. Still, he didn't like the lack of conviction in her voice. He decided it was probably the fact she hadn't heard from her father yet that was sapping what little confidence she had in the first place.
"He would be proud of you, you know," he told her.
"I'm so worried that it's driving me mad." She wiped a tear from her cheek with a trembling hand. "Something terrible has happened to him, I'm sure of it."
"You have to be strong, Sue," he said softly. "Your father lived a life far longer than any human is supposed to. Even if he has found trouble, it shouldn't sadden you so much. Life is a gift, and no matter what has happened to him, no matter where he is, I know he doesn't want you crying and worrying so much about him."
"I hope he's not gone," she said as tears began to flow more freely. "I never really got to say goodbye."
Vinston-Fret rose and walked over to her. He knelt and looked her in the eyes. "We cannot let it affect what we have to do. He sent you with us for a reason."
"I know he did." Suclair sniffled and wiped her cheeks, trying to get a grip on her overwhelming emotion.
She didn't only feel like something bad had happened to her father, she felt like the relationship she'd once had with Reaton-Stav had broken her father's heart. She wasn't sure how, but she thought that Reaton somehow was the cause of her ill feelings. It was like sensing the sapphire's magical aura, or Braxton's growing power. It was something she just couldn't form into words, but she knew it was true. She also knew her father would want her to carry on and complete this quest. Searching deeply within herself, she found the little spark of pride so recently ignited inside of her and tried to fan it into a flame while Vinston-Fret and Nixy woke the others.
When they set out, they moved in the direction Suclair indicated, and throughout the morning, Vinston-Fret checked with her to make sure they were still going toward their target. He also asked several times if what she was sensing was moving or stationary. The idea that the creature that swallowed the elf carrying the stone was still alive was discussed as they moved along. None of them figured it was, and Suclair assured them what she was sensing was stationary.
Around midday, Braxton was still contemplating a passage he'd read before his watch the night before. He'd learned that while he was in the familiar form of the hawk, as it was called, both he and the hawk's body were connected to his soul. Though his human body was somewhat protected by the power of the jewel while he was in the familiar form, it was still susceptible to injury or even death, as was the hawk's. If either form was killed, he was dead. Knowing this, another passage had him troubled.
It read:
…and with all the gifts that come with the jewel's magic, the defenses, the weapons, and the ability to gather information, none of this can guarantee you are protected. The world around you is dangerous. With magic, as in life, it is not what we know or see, but what is unknown and unseen that has the ability to breach our defenses and get us in the end.
Chapter Six
Debain was beyond pain. His frayed nerve endings had been magically repaired so many times they'd stopped sending messages to his brain. Still, the mental anguish of his predicament stood out in his mind front and center. His legs, and now his arms, were useless lumps of pulp. The only thing keeping him alive was Reaton-Stav's twisted will. The boy had spent days working him over with the hammer he now called Betsy. Betsy's heavy head had pounded Debain's lower legs, and then his thighs, until his bones were nothing more than jagged chips and his muscles nothing but mush. Throughout all this, Reaton-Stav took special care to keep Debain conscious and aware of what he was doing. He even provided mirrors set in a way so that Debain could see his body being pulverized from several angles at once.
What secrets he'd revealed, he wasn't sure. All he knew was, at one point, the boy stopped and had to resort to extreme sessions of spell casting to revive him and free his ruined limbs from infection.
Debain didn't understand why he'd done this, other than that being left alive now was a torture in itself. It was probably as simple as that, yet he felt there was some other purpose.
The undead servant who first attended him finally rotted away, only to be replaced by another, fresher corpse that Reaton-Stav had somehow animated. This new servant was just leaving after serving Debain his daily meal of slop and molded bread when the boy appeared at the door.
Debain couldn't turn to face him, but he could see him in the reflection of one of the mirrors. The expression of glee on the boy's face, and the wicked light in his eyes, told Debain more than he wanted to know.
"Ahh, my friend," Reaton-Stav said, barely able to contain his joy over the irony of the statement. "I've brought someone to see you."
He motioned toward the door where a large human with no hair and bright red glowing eyes stood looking at him. At first glance, Debain knew that it wasn't really human. Jagged fanged teeth, and skin that looked about to burst, along with the aura of pure hate that radiated from the thing, told him that it was something otherworldly.
Debain closed his eyes, and even though his ability to use magic was gone, he recited the words of a spell that would take him from this life before this new fiend could do it for him.
"Wasted words," the monster in human form bellowed deeply. "My necromancer has removed your ability, and I assure you that death will not come so easy. Your suffering has just begun. Why not reveal all you know of the Sapphire of Souls and save us both the time and effort. The kind of pain I inflict will be the sort that even one as stubborn as you cannot bear."
"Pharark." Debain hissed through clenched teeth. "I will not help you, demon."
"I see you know who I am," Pharark said, dismissing Reaton-Stav with the wave of his hand. "I loathe taking on this human appearance, but I have no choice for these stupid monks built the ceilings and doorways so low that in my true form I would destroy it." He strode towards Debain. "I suppose it is worth the discomfort to find the Sapphire of Souls, but the longer this takes, the more agony you will feel."
Reaton-Stav left with a scowl. He wanted very much to watch his master finish off the old man who'd caused him so much trouble in his life. He also wanted to know more about the Sapphire of Souls Pharark wanted so badly, but not at the expense of angering the demon. The powers he'd accrued were of the sort he'd rather not lose, so he reluctantly left the dungeon. He did, however, cast a spell of hearing on a pair of his animated corpses and left them standing in the corridor just outside the room so he could eavesdrop.
"Your evil will fail," Debain said.
"You told the necromancer of a quest to find the sapphire," Pharark mused as he neared Debain's helpless body. "You refused to say where they were searching and why the elves and the pesky little dwarves are aiding this Lord Braxton. How did he come by the jewel he uses? What does he want with the Sapphire of Souls?" Pharark placed his blue glowing hand on Debain's chest and looked into the old man's eyes. "I will have these answers."
The sensation caused by the demon's touch was beyond reason. Debain felt his arms and legs somehow repairing themselves. The shattered pieces of bone pulled back together completely. The torn and smashed muscles, and the shredded nerve endings melded back as they'd once been. All pain lifted away, and Debain's old body began to feel young and invigorated. It was amazing and wonderful. Compared to the recent past, it was sheer bliss, but it all disappeared the instant the demon removed his hand. Debain was left feeling sweaty and hollow, like a drunk without liquor, craving more and willing to do anything to get it.
"See, Old One." Pharark smiled mischievously. "I can give you back what has been taken and more if you only tell me what I want to know." Debain almost blurted it out, but thoughts of Suclair and her unsuspecting companions being ambushed by this monster or his servants kept him from it. "Never,
" was all he could manage.
"Never say never, you old fool." Pharark laughed, and then reached out with his blue glowing hand again, this time he put it on Debain's forehead. "I am the Demon of Destruction, you pitiful wretch. Do not underestimate my power."
Debain was again filled with the tingling relief of the demon's vision, only this time his wounds healed until they were forgotten and his age began to drain away. He was one hundred again, then eighty, then fifty. His body felt alive with the vigor and promise of youth. He could feel the power of his own magic coursing through his veins again, and it felt wonderful. He was whole. He was so caught up in it all that reality slipped away, and while his mind tripped through the ages, he had a thought that he should never have had. It was the thought that Pharark was searching for. The piece of information the demon could use to twist the knowledge he sought right out of his skull. Debain thought about the most important thing in his world, Suclair.
At once, the beautiful sensation that Pharark was imprinting on his mind vanished, leaving only a dizzy confusion in Debain's head.
Debain craved the feeling he'd just lost so badly that he didn't know where he was or what was happening. It wasn't until he saw Suclair's concerned face looking down at him while the demon stood behind her that he thought he understood.
He saw Suclair's eyes jerk wide open. The walls around them flashed to blackness while the demon's arm wrapped around her neck and squeezed with such force the veins at her temples swelled to the point of bursting. She tried to cry out to him for help, but Pharark's arm choked the words from her with savage force. Her eyes snapped shut in a pain-filled wince.
"You will tell me what I want to know, Debain." Pharark hissed over her shoulder. He kissed her bald head, then ran his long pink tongue slowly up her cheek, revealing his white, razor sharp fangs.
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