Of Truth and Beasts (Noble of Dead Saga Series 2 Book 3)

by Barb; J. C. Hendee

  Spittle ignited, and flame burned along the wall where they’d been standing.

  Wynn hit the far wall, toppling over Shade. She tried to keep Shade down as her staff clattered away across the floor. A curtain of fire spread along the far wall and the ceiling above from whatever the creature had spit at them. Wynn felt her forearm begin to sear.

  Her sleeve was on fire!

  She thrashed and whipped her arm against the tunnel floor, smothering her sleeve. While flailing, she caught a glimpse up the tunnel.

  Before the flames died, Wynn clearly saw a black robe and wafting cloak illuminated by the fire.

  She almost lost her fear of the beast coming at her as she saw him.

  Sau’ilahk was there, watching her.

  As flames suddenly erupted near Wynn, Sau’ilahk rushed halfway to her. She had not yet led him to the orb, and he could not let her die. Somehow she grabbed the dog and rolled clear, evading the worst of the fire.

  Sau’ilahk still heard a roaring far behind him, but it did not pull his attention. He could only stare at the winged, reptilian creature filling the tunnel beyond Wynn.

  That noise behind him, and the blast of orange light at the breach, could mean only one thing. There were at least two of these creatures down here.

  Sau’ilahk did not think Wynn could escape them. Perhaps he could save her, but she had already led him into the seatt’s deepest place. The search could not reach much farther.

  He had no fear of these creatures, no matter how long he remained. Their teeth and claws, even their fire, could not touch him. He could search at his leisure, ignoring them.

  Wynn froze, staring at him, as if not believing her eyes. The sight of her stricken face sparked a sudden joy within him, and then he saw the creature behind her open its maw again.

  A howl echoed sharply up the tunnel.

  Shade charged toward Sau’ilahk. Chane rushed the creature from behind. Wynn scrambled for her staff.

  Sau’ilahk had always hoped to kill her slowly. But the orb was all that mattered now.

  Wynn would die, anyway, her last sight being that of him.

  Sau’ilahk focused down the tunnel past Chane, past Ore-Locks, as far as he could see. And he blinked through dormancy.

  Wynn almost screamed in anguish as Sau’ilahk vanished, and Shade snapped at empty air like a wolf gone mad. Amid terror, Wynn spun to face the creature behind her. She couldn’t help thinking that Chane had been right all along.

  The wraith had survived and would now beat her to the orb.

  The last thing that should happen was for the orb to fall into Sau’ilahk’s hands—to be reclaimed by the Enemy for whatever purpose it served. She couldn’t allow that at any price.

  Whirling back, she saw Chane charging the creature from behind. She raised her staff, hoping to blind the creature before it spit fire again. Its maw was open and fluid dripped out, but it didn’t clack its teeth again.

  The creature raised its large head, and its black orb eyes stared up the tunnel at Shade. Wynn was caught in hesitation when it suddenly snaked its head back around. Chane dodged aside, but the creature looked beyond him, fixating on Ore-Locks still lying against the tunnel’s side.

  Wynn jumped a step as its head snapped back, but again it looked toward Shade. She heard scrabbling claws as Shade rushed by her, but her only thoughts were for the orb.

  “Chane, no!” Wynn shouted. “Sau’ilahk is here, and he’s gone to find the orb. Don’t let him take it. Nothing else matters!”

  Shade lunged in, snapping at the creature’s face. But the massive reptile only lifted its head out of reach. Chane didn’t stop at Wynn’s plea, and he came at the beast from behind.

  The creature merely lashed its tail.

  Chane ducked under, rolling to the tunnel’s other side. The tail’s barb shattered the wall where he’d stood, scattering chunks of rock everywhere.

  “Chane, listen to me!” Wynn cried.

  The creature fixed its eyes on her.

  Chane regained his feet, still within reach of its tail. He held both his dwarven blade and the old, shortened one. His pale face was twisted like an animal’s about to snarl. She’d seen this before. He was lost in fury and a hungered drive to get to her.

  How could she make him listen?

  “Nothing matters but the orb!” Wynn shouted at him, and then ripped the cover off the sun crystal.

  Chuillyon saw the reptilian monstrosity coming at full charge, and he bolted to the left. If he could gain its attention, he might draw it away from Shâodh and Hannâschi.

  It came at him rapidly in a mass of scales, jaws, and thrashing wings. He ran between two of the huge coffins, but when he glanced back, it was not coming after him.

  The monster swung its long head around, fixing on Shâodh, who stood between it and Hannâschi’s prone form.

  “Keep moving!” Chuillyon shouted. “Give it two targets.”

  With a quick blink, Shâodh appeared to understand, and he ran for the hall’s other side.

  The creature swung its head toward him, fluid dripping from its mouth. A singular thought pounded in Chuillyon’s mind.

  Someone had to survive.

  He had not told anyone else of this journey. Even if they did not catch Wynn, one of them had to tell the guild of this place, about the proof found here, and that she’d come seeking something more.

  Chuillyon glanced at Hannâschi on the floor, barely breathing, her long hair in a tangle across her face. Even at the cost of leaving her, one of them had to escape.

  The creature followed his gaze. Its huge, dark eyes focused on Hannâschi’s prone form. It opened its jaws wider, as if about to spit.

  Before Chuillyon could act, he heard Shâodh cry out, “No!”

  Shâodh ran toward the creature, waving his arms. “Here! Over here!”

  The creature pivoted at his noise, spitting, and its jaws clacked.

  Chuillyon’s cry drowned under the flame’s roar.

  Shâodh’s face filled with horror and his mouth gaped for an inhale. His scream never came out, and Chuillyon cringed back between two basalt coffins as the air ignited.

  Flames erupted from the creature’s maw, lighting the whole hall in an orange-yellow glare. Amid fire, the barest shadow of Shâodh crumpled like cinders burning too quickly in a forge.

  Everything happened too fast for Ghassan to react. He saw the young elf waving his arms and shouting to draw the creature away from the girl.

  Ghassan dashed out to do something—anything—to help. Then fire burst from the creature’s maw, engulfing and incinerating the young elf.

  The floor was covered in flickering, small flames, as if some ignitable fluid had been sprayed across the stone.

  Ghassan’s mind raced. What could he do—what could anyone do—against such a monster? In desperation, he began drawing shapes and sigils in his mind’s eye, chanting quickly but softly as he focused on the creature. Perhaps he could befuddle its mind.

  His thoughts hit a wall, and then a backlash struck him.

  Ghassan reeled against the base of one basalt statue as the whole chamber dimmed before his eyes. He forced his eyes to stay open, and the blackness faded. He never had a chance to ponder what had gone wrong.

  The creature swung its head again, this time looking at him.

  Chuillyon watched as the creature looked toward the hall’s entrance. He silently crept forward between the immense basalt statues, following its gaze.

  There was Ghassan il’Sänke. Still in shock, Chuillyon could not comprehend how the Suman sage could be here.

  Il’Sänke pushed off the base of the basalt coffin, wavering as if injured or ill.

  Chuillyon looked numbly at the flames still writhing from blackened stone around the lump of Shâodh’s charred remains. He could see no way to reach the hall’s portal, and the nearest breach held some trap that had struck down Hannâschi. Shâodh was gone, and Hannâschi appeared barely alive. And what could one Suman metaolog
er do against this thing that had come out of the other breach?

  Again, someone had to survive to tell of this place. No matter Wynn’s reason for coming here, or what she sought, the guild had to know of the seatt’s existence and of a monster in its depths.

  Something had to come from all that this had cost.

  The creature’s head whipped back toward Chuillyon, and he peered around the coffin’s base. Its maw opened once again, spittle dripping from its jaws to the floor.

  Ghassan gained his feet and took a stumbling step as he began to chant.

  “No!” Chuillyon shouted.

  Ghassan froze in silence.

  “Go!” Chuillyon shouted. “Tell our own of this place. Go . . . now!”

  Ghassan’s brow furrowed as either anger or frustration passed across his caramel features. But Ghassan was so close to the open portal. He could escape this hall.

  “Get ready to run!” Chuillyon called. “I’ll distract it.”

  He steeled himself, hoping that when he died, it would be quick, if not painless. But he saw no choice. Ghassan was the only sage here with a chance.

  Before Chuillyon could move, Ghassan bolted.

  Chuillyon saw the Suman run straight for the wide breach from which the creature had emerged—and not for the exit out of this place. Chuillyon was stricken cold as he watched Ghassan launch himself into that opening and fall from sight down the shaft.

  Chuillyon could not breathe. His mind went numb as any frail hope withered, thinking that all this would die with him. Why would Ghassan kill himself in such a futile manner? Did he fear the creature would pursue him, and he preferred another death?

  Chuillyon was alone as he heard claws upon the hall’s floor.

  The creature rushed him, and all he could do was retreat to the wall between the coffins. The reptile came too rapidly for him to dart along the wall, and its head thrust in at him only an arm’s length away.

  A sadness like no other crushed everything inside of Chuillyon.

  Ghassan’s self-destructive act, Hannâschi’s helplessness, and Shâodh’s burned bones overwhelmed all other thoughts as he looked in the creature’s black glistening eyes.

  He could not bear any more sadness and loss. All he had left was a moment to pray.

  Chârmun . . . fill me with your absolute nature . . . in my sorrow of failure.

  “Nothing matters but the orb!”

  Chane heard Wynn’s shout on the edge of his awareness, but it brought only a ripping sense of denial. Hunger, fury, and his love for this woman tangled, becoming one and the same. Then he heard her chanting softly and saw her thrust out the staff’s uncovered crystal.

  Chane lashed out at the winged creature’s tail with both blades, trying to make it turn on him.

  “Chane, don’t!” Wynn cried. “Go!”

  No searing light filled the tunnel.

  He halted, looking to her. Why had the sun crystal not ignited? Wynn raised her shocked eyes to the end of the staff. Something had gone wrong. Chane would have screamed if he had a true voice.

  But the creature did not spit fire again.

  Shade snarled and weaved, trying to stay between it and Wynn. The scaled beast raised its head out of reach, but its attention was fixed on Shade.

  Wynn bolted forward. She tried to slip by, but the creature’s neck snaked down and cut her off. It would not allow her to pass. She locked eyes with Chane, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  The desperation on her face knifed Chane in the chest. She grew still, looking at him, and her voice was frighteningly calm.

  “If you care anything for me,” she called, “you will listen. What matters to me here is who I am . . . and it matters more than even what I mean to you. Go after Sau’ilahk. Get to the orb first.”

  Chane took another step.

  Wynn shook her head, and this time her voice was barely audible.

  “If you love me, then go . . . for me.”

  Chane shuddered.

  Those words stung him more than if she had simply told him to leave her and never return. To deny what she asked and save her, or to do as she asked and lose her, was crueler than any choice she had ever forced on him.

  He let out a hiss of anger and panic. The feral thing at the core of his nature struggled beneath the violet concoction that had kept him awake since they had first headed under the mountains. He could not take his eyes off Wynn, even as she turned to face the creature hovering just beyond Shade’s bared teeth.

  The creature was poised in stillness, but for how long?

  If you love me, then go . . . for me.

  Chane cringed in anguish as Wynn’s plea kept rolling through this mind. How could he deny what she claimed by not doing what she asked?

  All he could do was turn and run down the tunnel.

  Ore-Locks had barely regained his feet. As Chane rushed by the dwarf, he snarled.

  “With me—now!”

  Ghassan kept falling down the shaft, out of control, still dazed by the backlash of his failed sorcery on the creature. Chuillyon’s demand that he flee still left him shocked, but there was much more at stake here than just revealing the discovery of Bäalâle Seatt. Chuillyon had not seen the frightening hints in the translated poem.

  Ghassan feared whatever Wynn might find and remove from this place. He had to learn her true purpose at any price. As he fell, he had no time to regret leaving the old elf to such a death.

  Wynn did not yet know that the wraith had followed her. It had not killed her, so it could only be using her for the same purpose as Ghassan sought. If her search had anything to do with something left behind by enemy forces, the wraith could not be allowed to reach it first.

  Ghassan had to survive, just as Chuillyon had said.

  His shoulder clipped the shaft’s wall.

  He tumbled as his body careened off the jagged walls. A rock protrusion ripped his sleeve. Even dazed, he knew he could hit bottom at any moment, and he forced his mind to focus amid vertigo.

  Ghassan closed his eyes, seeing only the shaped sigils igniting in his thoughts. With air rushing past and ripping at his clothing, he pushed against the shaft’s walls with his will, trying to slow his rapid descent. But all he felt and heard were bits of stone breaking when he collided with the walls, and he barely heard clothing and skin tear as he plummeted through the darkness.

  CHAPTER 25

  Wynn looked into the creature’s face. Her attempt to ignite the sun crystal had failed, though she’d done everything right.

  Shade’s snarling suddenly ceased.

  An ache grew in Wynn’s head as she saw the creature fixate on the dog.

  A cacophony, like a thousand leaves, began blowing about inside Wynn’s skull. It grew to a deafening pitch until she whimpered and dropped to her knees. She clutched Shade tightly. She couldn’t even save the dog, only hold her and wait to die.

  Shade’s memory-words rose in Wynn’s thoughts above the scratch of leaf-wings.

  —Fay-born—

  The creature’s head swung toward Wynn. What was Shade trying to tell her?

  The roar in Wynn’s mind drowned out everything else. All she saw were great black eyes within a reptilian face boring into her until everything went dark.

  There was only blackness.

  Wynn’s chest hurt and then began to burn, as if she’d held her breath too long but couldn’t let it out. She sensed motion but her limbs wouldn’t move. It was so familiar, but amid growing panic to breathe, she couldn’t remember why.

  Blackness faded, but only a little.

  She exhaled hard and couldn’t stop shaking as she gasped, unaware of where she was. Every muscle in her body clenched and wouldn’t release. Something pulled at her thoughts, but it wasn’t the crackle of leaf-wings.

  It was monotonous and endless, like a wind shrieking inside her head. Words rose out of it in fragmented whispers.

  . . . they come . . . liars, deceivers . . . assassins, murders everywhere . . .


  The wind inside her skull seemed made of even more than those words, so many whispers that she only caught these broken pieces. Her own thoughts were drowned by the gale, as the first thing she saw was a dim hearth.

  Orange-red coals within it barely lit the space where she stood. She stood surrounded by plain stone walls, in a room without a single piece of furniture. Its empty state heightened her awareness until her focus snapped sharply to the left.

  She hadn’t even thought of turning, but she did.

  . . . trust no one . . . not ever . . .

  At those whispers out of the gale, Wynn looked to an archway in the room’s left wall. It was nothing but another portal into blackness, for the hearth’s dim light didn’t penetrate the space beyond. She wanted to back away, to find any path out of here, but . . .

  “Vra’ feilulákè . . . bhâyil tu-thé?”

  Not a word of that cry made sense, though it rushed from her own mouth with a frantic urgency pushing toward rage. But it wasn’t her voice that she’d heard.

  Wynn’s fear mounted.

  She was lost inside a memory. But whose? Was Shade doing this? She focused hard, trying to see the world she last remembered—the rough tunnel, the winged reptile, or Shade.

  None of this came to her.

  Where was she? Who was she? Without answers, she wrestled with what she’d heard to hold off the fear-fed whispers trying to drown her reason.

  The first word had been vocative, masculine—she knew the language! She’d been speaking Dwarvish, but either she hadn’t heard it right or she didn’t know the dialect. She couldn’t recognize the word’s root. Only the suffix “-ulákè” barely made sense.

  It meant “like” or “alike.”

  “Vra’ feilulákè! Bhâyil tu-thé?”

  Wynn’s throat turned raw as she repeated the deep shout. A rustle of leaf-wings rose in her mind. Not many, just one this time, like when she’d listened in on Chap as he’d communed with his kin. The first words she’d uttered repeated in her head, this time in every language she knew: Brother-of-like-flesh . . . are you here?