A Stone's Throw (The Gryphonpike Chronicles Book 3)

by Annie Bellet

  The stalagmites had been growing here undisturbed for a very long time. Water marks stained the yellowish minerals with darker bands. Many of the growths were as large as saplings, forming blunt spires up toward the far off chamber ceiling. Careful not to touch the glowing lichen more than was necessary to move among the stalagmite forest, I picked my way across the cavern floor, Thorn held loosely ready in my hand.

  There were signs that other passages had opened off this chamber but time and rock falls had blocked them, debris choking the wider ones except the opening Rahiel had found. My boots left dark scuffmarks in the lichen, and the glimmer moss turned the leather bright green so that each step flickered. After finding nothing but stone and glowing vegetation, I made my way toward where Rahiel perched on the bulbous top of a squat stalagmite.

  “Do you smell honey?” she asked.

  I didn’t, though of course I couldn’t tell her that. I did smell fruit though, the crisp, tart scent of a pear freshly sliced.

  “Nothing in the pool, thanks for asking,” Drake said as he wove around the minerals and came up to us. Makha, her dark blue armor smeared with glimmer moss trails, followed, Azyrin trailing her.

  “Don’t suppose you are ready to abandon the hunt?” Makha clapped Drake on the shoulder and he winced.

  “We’ve barely begun, see that passage there?”

  “Vents in roof,” Azyrin said. He studied the ceiling just ahead of where we had gathered. Daylight, fainter than the bright green glow of the glimmer moss, filtered in through holes in the rock far above our heads. “Where are animals?”

  “What do you mean?” Drake tilted his head back. “Those holes aren’t very big.”

  Rahiel lifted off her perch and flew high. “Water most likely carved these holes. Stone is damp.”

  “Should be bats here. Insects to eat lichen and each other. Spiders, millipedes, and there are fat worms called zurst, or?” Azyrin looked at Makha.

  “Aye. We call ‘em whitewicks.” She sniffed at the air. “I smell strawberries.”

  “So do I,” Drake said, looking around.

  “Not strawberries. Wintergreen.” The half-orc curled his upper lip back from his tusks and tasted the air with a pale blue tongue.

  The tiny hairs on the back of my neck started to itch. No animal life, despite being open to the plains above which teemed with deer, birds, fish, insects, and a myriad of small furred or scaled creatures. I fitted an arrow to my bowstring and started checking the ground more closely, looking for any irregularity. The stone floor was ridged and bumpy and the glimmer moss light tossed out odd shadows, making an eyeball search for bones or other signs of this being a predator’s den almost impossible.

  “There are berries or something growing up here,” Rahiel called down. “I will grab you a sample, Azy.”

  My head snapped up and I drew my bow even as Azyrin cried out a warning, his thinking following mine.

  Too late. Parts of the ceiling peeled away as winged creatures took to the air, enveloping the pixie-goblin.

  I shot an arrow straight up but the creature dodged and my arrow fell back into the stalagmite forest. A bright flash of blue fire followed by a ball of acrid smoke confirmed that Rahiel was still alive, at least. She dropped out of the swirling, glowing bodies of the monsters and flew down to us.

  “Go, go, go,” she yelled. “Too many of them!”

  The bright cloud of creatures descended, and I saw she was right. The beasts were coated in glimmer moss, which blended into the surroundings and created a flickering illusion of size. I picked up glimpses of paper-thin wings veined black through the green shine, clusters of pearly fruit-like growths dangled in front of narrow snouts, and curved claws edged their wings. The creatures descended like a deadly blanket tossed over the cavern.

  “The passage. Go.” Drake darted for the wide opening that led deeper into the caves.

  I stayed where I was as the others rushed off, sending arrow after arrow into the mass of eerily silent creatures. Blood splattered down from where my shots pierced hide, black against the green lichens. I ducked a clawed swipe and dodged around a stalagmite as one creature tried to grab hold and envelop me.

  “Killer, move your elfin ass.” I heard Makha yelling behind me and turned, sprinting for the passage.

  The corridor was too large to keep the creatures from following, but its ten foot height prevented them from dropping down on us from above, so there was some small bit of luck. We descended further underground, the creatures coming after us by crawling along the walls, their curved claws creating a skittering echo that hurt my ears and reverberated in my molars until I wished I could scream just to stop the sound. All I wanted to do was run from them; get away from the glowing horde and grating noise.

  I forced myself not to run but to keep shooting any of the creatures that skittered too close. My instincts screamed at me that something was wrong here. This passage was open, clear of all debris. The other openings I’d seen had been nothing more than rock and dirt piles.

  Dirt piles?

  The pieces slid into place. The holes in the ceiling where time and water had shoved their way into the chamber. Holes cleared of debris and dirt. Dirt that had to go somewhere so it wouldn’t choke the lichens or damage the cavern. Stones clogging the other entrances. This place had been engineered this way by at least somewhat intelligent creatures. Creatures I suspected were now herding us somewhere.

  I took a shaky breath and spun to see where we were being shunted to, trusting that Makha beside me would keep the creatures off my back. If I were right, they wouldn’t even try to close the distance in a serious way. Azyrin let me past him, stepping in beside his wife with his falchion drawn and gold light encasing his other hand.

  Rahiel had already flown free of the corridor and Drake was backing out, looking over his shoulder at the terrain. The passage opened into another chamber, this one less bright with glimmer moss and devoid of any mineral growth on its floor though sharp stalactites hung like jagged teeth from the high ceiling. It was about the span of three elves laying head to toe and dominated by a stone tree. The tree looked almost like a stalagmite, its surface the same banded dark yellows like old leather, but with ten thick whip-like branches drooping off the trunk almost like a stylized carving of a weeping willow. Two dark spots on the wall behind the tree looked like they might be further corridors branching off the chamber.

  What caught my eye were the flashes of clean bone that cluttered the roots of the tree, much of the bones encrusted with glimmer moss but not all. Bird bones, a femur of a deer or something larger, and an empty rib cage with distinctly humanoid vertebrae attached.

  Drake’s eyes met mine, and I swallowed a wave of nausea as I jerked my chin toward the tree.

  The tree’s branches came to life. One struck at Rahiel, but Drake, reading the panicked look on my face, yelled a warning. The pixie-goblin dodged the whipping branch and it cracked into a stalactite, the crystalline growth sheering off and crashing down with a sound like an old brass bell.

  “Whipmaw,” shouted Azyrin. “Skin like stone, cannot hurt it.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” Drake ducked as his rapier blade screeched along a thick branch, barely scratching its yellowy surface.

  “Rahiel, fireball the damned critters.” Makha’s voice was muffled by her armored hood, the maille sealing around her face until only her eyes glinted steel grey above the blue scales. She slashed at one creature that grew too bold and separated out from its pack. The others stayed in a thick clot, preventing us from fleeing the flailing whipmaw’s stony arms.

  “Can’t,” gasped the pixie-goblin as she swerved out of the way of another bashing arm. “I will get you and Azy.”

  “I protect us.” Azyrin lifted his fist and golden light spilled over his arm like a molten fountain. “Do it.”

  Makha pivoted and caught the branch that snaked toward Azyrin’s head on her shield with a grunt. The force of the blow shoved her back into reach of t
he skittering clutch of winged creatures and teeth snapped at her back. They broke on her armor. The deep blue scales looked like glass, but were actually a material formed by alchemy and magics long since lost to mortal knowledge. No normal claws and teeth or even steel would crack the Saliidruin maille.

  I sprang back from a sweeping branch and barely got Thorn in the way to block another as, since Drake had retreated into range of the golden light spilling off the shaman, the whipmaw turned its attention to me. My bow caught the branch with a force like being shield-bashed by Makha. It slammed me back into the wall, my armor digging into my skin. My arm felt as though I’d arm wrestled a giant, and I had trouble keeping hold of my bow.

  “Rahiel,” yelled Azyrin.

  “Trying,” she yelled back. I caught the green-and-purple blur of her dropping down between striking branches and then a red bead shot from her hands. Pinned against the wall to the side of the entrance, I was spared the full heat of the blast, but the stink of singed hair filled my nostrils and my eyes teared from the wave of heat.

  The creatures burned with horrible shrieks that scratched at my ears in a pitch almost too high to hear.

  “Go,” Azyrin said. “Cut way through.”

  I ducked a smashing branch and went into the still smoking opening in a crouch, barely avoiding a collision with Drake. I drew my dagger with my right hand and slashed at the sides of the tunnel, scoring rock but also hitting the remaining creatures as they scrabbled up and tried to stop our retreat.

  “Wait for me.” Rahiel entered the passage in a whirl of wings and silk skirts, brushing past my head.

  I turned to make sure nothing followed us but the whipmaw looked to be fixed in place and its tendrils couldn’t reach into the passage. A black globe caught my eye, down along one of the thick roots anchoring the whipmaw in the cavern. The globe had a slick surface, almost reflecting the green light from the glimmer moss. My left arm still tingled with bruised pain but I drew Thorn and shot an arrow at the black globe. One of the branches tried to block my arrow, but the tip of the broadhead nicked the globe’s surface and inky fluid spewed from the wound. The whipmaw started thrashing even more wildly and chunks of stone rained down in the cavern, pinging like out of tune bells off the floor and walls.

  “Killer,” Drake called to me.

  The others were fighting off the remaining winged creatures from within the opening into the larger cavern. I joined in, sending arrows slicing through thin wings as we worked to bring the creatures down. Black blood spattered my face and I envied Makha her hood. One of the monsters tried to drop down onto me from above but I ducked back into the passageway at the last moment and shot an arrow into what I hoped was its head. Clear fluid spurted as my arrow cut through the grape-cluster-like growth on what I guessed was its nose. The air filled with the smell of ripe pears.

  “Angler imps!” Rahiel said as though she had just remembered something important. “That is what these are.”

  “Great,” Drake said, skewering one on his rapier and then kicking its twitching corpse off just in time to sever the head of another.

  I drew my bow and searched for another target as Makha slammed down the imp that had tried to engulf her with its clawed wings. She impaled it on a broken stalagmite and smashed in its sharp-toothed face. No other imps presented themselves. I scanned the ceiling, looking for dark patches or movement, but it seemed still and clear.

  “Anyone injured?” asked Azyrin.

  No one was. I didn’t bother to bring up my aching arm. I could make a fist and still grip Thorn without too much pain, so no bones were broken. Bruises would heal. A few gulps of tepid water from my waterskin helped clear the conflicting tastes of burned hair, pears, and burning blood from my mouth. I touched a hand to my hair and found my braid coated with the imps inky blood. Not enough water in my skin to fix that, so I decided to ignore the creeping itch as it dried on my scalp.

  “How do we kill that whipmaw?” Drake asked as he sloshed his own waterskin around.

  “I do not know,” Azyrin said. “Books say to avoid old ones. Skin collects too much stone to harm. Poison is too dangerous.”

  “Poison? What poison?” Makha poked one of the dead imps with her boot, squishing its nose cluster. More clear liquid gushed, renewing the pear smell.

  “Whipmaws are little bit psychic. Have mind magic. Poison in their teeth delivers it. Is how this one controls imps to bring it bones to absorb.”

  “I didn’t see any teeth,” Drake said.

  “In tentacles. Opens them when ready to strike. This one angry because we hurt imps. Did not strike like it should.”

  Thinking about the black bulb I’d damaged, I wondered if it were a poison sack of some kind. The whipmaw had certainly reacted to the wound as though I had hurt it more than superficially. I sucked my lips against my teeth. No way to ask Azyrin, to confirm that it could be damaged. I would have to get their attention and show them. I took a deep breath and flexed my left hand before picking up Thorn.

  “We’ll have to figure out how to kill it.” Drake shrugged.

  “No, we won’t,” Makha said. “It’s too dangerous, mushbrain, and for what? We tried to chase the story, but this is a bit much, eh?”

  “I agree,” Rahiel chimed in. “The idiot human probably died when the sinkhole caved in the dueling site and the sword is decades gone or moldering and buried somewhere deep down here, rotted and rusted away to nothing. Use your tiny brain, man-child.”

  Drake punched a stalagmite and then winced. “It’s here. I know it is.”

  “How?” Rahiel dropped down behind Makha.

  “I had a vision, okay? When I held the sheath. The sword is here. I’ve seen it. We have to go past the whipmaw, I saw it as a stone tree in my vision. Then through a room with bacon and…” He stopped and dropped his chin as he realized how that last bit sounded.

  “You sure whipmaw did not puncture your skin?” Azyrin eyed Drake.

  “I’m sure. Bloody damn it all. We went after Rahiel’s stupid pearl. Come on, you guys have to trust me.”

  “My pearl? That was the result of years of research, years of sifting legend and rumor for facts. Not some fat human barmaid’s trumped up family history coupled with a drunken hallucination.” Rahiel tucked her tiny fists on her hips as blue sparks crackled in the air around her wings.

  “You withheld the bacon vision and the warakin pack. What else aren’t you telling us?” Makha leaned on her shield, her voice and expression gentle but firm.

  “Nothing. Damnit, nothing.” Drake turned to me. “Killer?”

  I looked back down the passage behind us and sighed. Even if I could communicate what I had found and provided that the information led us to defeating the whipmaw, it seemed my companions had made their decision. I did not meet Drake’s pleading look.

  His face went flat and his heavy lids shadowed his hazel eyes as he turned away from me. “Fine. Ya’ll are right. Let’s go. I need a bath.”

  Azyrin smiled and clapped Drake on the shoulder. Makha’s eyebrows knit together as she shot the rogue a worried look, but he followed Rahiel’s quickly disappearing form through the stalagmite forest without further complaint.

  I slipped my bow over my shoulder and started gathering what arrows I could salvage. I didn’t believe Drake’s capitulation for a second. His posture appeared resigned and his feet carried him out of the cavern, but there was a glint of steel in his eyes that said it wasn’t close to the end of the matter.

  * * *

  No elves require as much sleep as humans or even orcs and other kin. As an Elemental Elf, I require even less. A handful of candlemarks of rest are good enough. Rahiel calls them my “cat naps” because when we camp on the road or in the wilds, I usually sleep with my head against Fade’s soft side. This lack of need for long rest means I am often the one on watch, or the one awake when all others slumber.

  The summer moon was peeking through the unshuttered window and my companions were breathing heavily w
hen Drake snuck out of the chapterhouse carrying his boots. I counted off the seconds in my head as I waited, then I rose, collecting my own boots and armor, and slipped out after him, dressing in the courtyard. The rose-colored moonlight painted the whitewashed walls of Stonebarrow the color of old blood. An inauspicious beginning to the evening’s adventures.

  Drake was easy to track since I knew where he was headed. I caught up to him just outside town, shadowing him until we were into the rolling plains. Then I slipped up beside him, making sure my feet made some noise so he would be aware of my presence.

  “Killer,” he hissed. “Should’ve known you’d trail me. I’m not going back.”

  I’m not here to turn you back, just keep you alive if I can. I raised my bow and jiggled my quiver so the arrows rattled a little. Nausea punched me in the belly as my curse decided to count this as communication, but I swallowed the bile and stared at Drake, willing him to catch a hint.

  “Okay, then.” He nodded. “Let’s go.”

  He had a pair of wire-framed spectacles with a smoky crystal lenses perched precariously on his bony nose. I’d never seen them before and raised an eyebrow, though I doubted he could see much through the lenses.

  “They give me night vision about as good as yours, I bet,” Drake said, pushing the spectacles more firmly into place. “I borrowed them from Rahiel’s stash of things to pay back her debts with. I’d say don’t tell her, but heh, kinda pointless to say that to you, eh?”

  I rolled my eyes and turned away from him to hide my smile. I doubted the flimsy spectacles gave him vision anywhere near as good as mine, and I wouldn’t have told Rahiel even if I could talk. She was definitely a shoot the messenger kind of person. Or perhaps a “turn messenger into pink rabbit” kind of person.

  “Thanks, Killer, for coming with me,” Drake murmured almost too softly even for my ears to catch over the sound of the wind in the grass and the crickets chirping in some further off bluff.

  We knew where we were going and we moved quickly, Drake’s long legs helping him keep up with my own. We were nearly to the sinkhole when my instincts started screaming at me as the chirps of crickets and belches of frogs along the stream bank ceased. I threw up my hand, sucking in a breath at the pain as my curse whacked the inside my skull and my head began to ache. Drake read the gesture and we both stopped, him easing his rapier from its scabbard and me slipping an arrow from my quiver.