“I swear, I don’t know what happened to your friends!” the woman screams, sweat pouring down her face. Her hand slips from Nyx’s wrist, which causes her to sob tears that evaporate before they fall off her face. “If the drite is alive then the others probably survived the Judges as well. Our hunting parties would be chasing them if they’re still free in the wilderness. Several of the warriors here just finished a rotation with those groups, so they might know more about your friends than I do. You can take them and as many boats as you need. I’ll even go with you if you want.”
With a wicked grin, Nyx yanks the cultist out of the well and slams her onto the ground. She straddles her enemy and grows fire-tipped claws that reach out for the woman’s face. Luke clearing his throat makes the channeler growl in disappointment and she retracts the deadly weapons. Pouting and cursing, she sits on the woman’s stomach and leans forward to bring their faces within an inch of each other.
“You’re going to stay here in case I have to come back,” Nyx whispers, her finger running along the cultist’s neck. She can hear the warriors putting boats in the water, the men obeying Dariana’s mental commands. “And it will only be me who comes back. My friends won’t be here to stay my hand. The Snow Tiger Tribe call me a Near God and I’ve defeated enemies who are stronger than your worst nightmares. So you better pray we never meet again. In fact, I changed my mind. I highly recommend that you leave Anpress and make sure I can never find you. Do you understand, little executioner?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” the half-elf states as she gets to her feet. A punch to the face knocks the woman out and Nyx leaves her sprawled on the ground. “That’s for tricking my friends and trying to do the same to me. Thanks for playing your role, little brother. Not sure what I’d have done if you didn’t act as my better half.”
Luke stares at his best friend as he realizes what she is talking about. “You mean the sadistic thing was an act? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought it would be obvious. It’s not like I’m Stephen.”
Nyx wipes the dirt from her pants and cools the well before heading for the boats. The other champions watch in stunned silence as the cultist warriors shy away from the channeler. Not wanting to waste any time, she stomps her foot to shake the ground, which shocks the robed figures back to work. Three boats are placed in the water, each one adorned with the bells that Dariana knows are to attract the Judges. Nyx hops into the middle vessel and happily waves for her friends to hurry up, a clap of her hands driving their nervous guides to fill the other two ships.
“I don’t know which version scares me more,” Luke whispers while pretending to tie his boot laces. A chill runs along his spine when he watches his friend make herself comfortable in the boat. “The angry Nyx is terrifying, but this happy, playful one is unnerving. Do you think her Compass Key tattoo is causing trouble again?”
“I was under the impression that it became dormant. Also, we would see it glowing under her shirt if it was active,” Timoran replies, leading the way to the river. Taking out a flask of Ifrit mead, he takes a satisfying gulp of the potent alcohol. “She seems to have become very anxious during our travels. The closer we get to Delvin and Sari, the more excited Nyx will get. I am not sure if that is a bad thing considering we have many dangers ahead of us. Still, I agree that her actions are disturbing.”
“At least you two can’t read her thoughts,” Dariana says with a shudder.
*****
Standing on the shore, Nyx and Dariana watch the lagoon’s calm surface for signs of the Judges. Fizzle crouches in a broad-leafed tree and sniffs at the breeze, the drite hoping to catch a whiff of their missing friends. Unable to find a trace of them, he turns to watch shattered pieces of the ships float down the river due to the strong current coming off the roaring waterfall. Their unwilling companions having been devoured by the lurking predators. Tattered robes and a few limbs float in the water, nothing else remaining of the cultists. A single survivor exists, but the man has been stripped to his underwear and a rope is tied around his waist. The other end of the long tether is in Timoran’s hands, the barbarian stretching and getting ready to put another scare into the stubborn zealot. High above the water, the griffin circles and keeps her keen ears trained on the predators hiding below. Whenever a brown feather molts off, the elegant beast flips to catch the shedding in her mouth and release it over the trees.
“Ready for another cast?” Timoran asks in a calm voice. He waves the prisoner around to get the winged beast’s attention and gives her a minute to prepare. “I will repeat myself. Where would your people have taken our friends?”
“The little freak and her pet would have been killed on the spot,” the man snaps before spitting at the champion. The glob strikes the large warrior’s forehead and earns the cultist a strong slam against a barbed tree. “I am more than willing to die for the cause. Feeding me to a Judge isn’t much of a threat.”
“Yes, but I might pull you back quick enough that you only lose a leg,” the barbarian states while patting his prisoner on the head. Securing a whistle to the man’s hair, Timoran lifts him for a slow spin. “Then Nyx will cauterize the wound and we will go again. Our friend in the sky can do even worse. Let us see how strong your nerves are. Play with him, Lucy!”
The grinning warrior hurls the cultist high over the lagoon, the wooden instrument in the man’s hair making enough noise to get the Judges’ attention. An echoing bellow shakes the thinner branches and the water becomes choppy as several eddies appear. One of the beasts erupts from below, its serpentine body covered in blue scales and gray slime. Its blossom-like head opens and a telescoping tongue lances forward in an attempt to hook its prey. Several jaws of sharp teeth glisten in the sunlight while tentacles around the Judge’s neck hungrily stretch toward the cultist. The determined man refuses to scream, but he closes his eyes to avoid seeing his imminent demise.
At the last second, the griffin swoops in to snatch the man out of the hissing predator’s mouth. Unleashing a roaring shriek, Lucy causes more of the Judges to burst from the lagoon, which creates a forest of thick bodies. With the cultist in her front paws, she spins among the slick creatures that constantly submerge and attack again. Several times, the suction-cupped tentacles grab her passenger and steal him away, but he is always retrieved from the predator’s maw. Grabbing the rope in her beak and taking it out of Timoran’s hands, the griffin soars high above the lagoon and chooses her target carefully.
Lucy dives when she notices a Judge that is missing a lot of teeth and moving slower than the others. As the creature rises out of the water, she dunks the cultist into its throat and rises to keep herself out of danger. Before the petal-shaped jaws can close, the griffin yanks its toy free and spirals toward the lagoon. She repeatedly slaps the prisoner against the surface, which causes Judges to erupt in their wake. When the man finally screams in fear, the proud beast returns to the shore and she drops him at Nyx’s feet. Shaking off water from her feathers and fur, the griffin reverts back into Luke whose stomach rumbles from the exertion.
“Are you ready to talk?” Timoran asks, coming at the man from behind. He pulls on the rope when their prisoner tries to run and catches him in a one-armed bear hug. “As you can hear, my friend is hungry and cannot change again. If I cast you out there one more time then you will have to depend on my strength alone to save you. Personally, I would thoroughly enjoy seeing if I can reel you in faster than those creatures can attack. It has been many years since I have gone fishing, so I can’t guarantee your survival.”
“What kind of champions are you?” replies the cultist, his body quivering from having too many close calls with the Judges. Looking from one angry face to another, he can feel his mouth go dry and worries that he is about to wet himself. “All of you are supposed to be heroes. People like you aren’t supposed to torture or use fear to get information.”
“Then tell me what I’m supposed to do to get
you to talk,” Nyx snaps as her patience comes to an end. Dariana’s firm hand on her shoulder stops the channeler from getting within reach of the chuckling man. “All of you refuse to answer our questions. Without terrorizing you, I only get insults and threats. So you brought all of this on yourself. Now tell me where my friends are and I’ll let you go.”
“Not good enou-” the cultist begins to say.
The orb of wind slams into the man and sends him sailing into the lagoon where it envelopes his body. Stirred by the splashing, the Judges swarm after the thrashing prey and try their best to swallow the man whole. The slick bubble protects him from their jaws, which repeatedly lose their grip and send him into another waiting mouth. After a few minutes, a single crack appears in the force field and water seeps inside, threatening to drown the cultist. When a sharp tongue stabs into the tiny opening and wriggles inside, the rope around the man’s waist goes taut and he is violently pulled to safety. Gasping for air, he is surprised when the tether is removed and his clothes are handed back to him. Even his spear is placed at his feet by the steely-eyed channeler, a tiny smirk on her face.
“You’re never going to tell us what we want,” Nyx says in defeat. With a flick of her finger, the water seeps out of the cultist’s clothing and back into the lagoon. “Unlike your boss in Anpress, you’re a warrior who was trained to resist fear and pain. To go any further would be wrong and cross a line that all of us are practically dancing on right now. I guess you win. For all I know, you’ve no idea where our friends are being held. Means I’ve wasted my time. So get dressed, grab your things, and run away before I change my mind.”
“This is why weak-willed heroes will never defeat those of us who remain true to a noble cause,” the cultist declares with a proud grin. He scratches an itch on his forehead, but it will not go away even when he draws blood. “Capture as many of my brothers and sisters as you can, but you won’t get information from any of us. I can assure you that the traitor at Anpress has already been removed from our ranks. She wouldn’t even be worth sending to the Judges for purification.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t wondered why we didn’t follow Fizzle from the beginning. That would make the most amount of sense since he was already here,” Luke claims as he chews on a piece of jerky. Picking a feather out from under his collar, the forest tracker takes a seat at the base of a tree. “That was our original plan, but Timoran pointed out that we’d have to face you guys at some point. Nyx came up with the idea that we interact with as many of you as possible to get information. An added bonus is that we can gradually disassemble your organization. For example, there are no more Judge feeders since we destroyed your headquarters, took most of your people, and the person in charge is gone. Though I do feel bad that the creatures might starve.”
“They will be fine since they’re only so big because of being fed large meals,” Dariana says while rubbing her temples. She can see a worried look on the cultist’s face, the man realizing that she is reading his mind. “The Judges will gradually shrink to a much smaller size and feed on the local animals once again. They will also spread out along the river instead of gathering in one place. Now that is an interesting piece of information. I’m sorry, but we’ve been wasting our time with these people. According to his memories, the Order of the Kehryhor is still searching for Delvin and Sari.”
“But Fizzle see them captured,” the drite replies, fearing that his friends will think he is a liar.
The telepath holds up her hand and takes a deep breath to clear a looming headache. “You did, but it seems to have been another group that took our friends. There were a few small skirmishes and chases after an encounter in a grotto, but nothing more than that as far as this man’s organization knows. Perhaps we should head to the last big fight and see if we can find clues to all of this. Unless our prisoner wishes to share more information and leave on better terms.”
“If your friends are in the hands of who I think they are then they’d be better off dead,” the cultist declares, clearing his mind to stop Dariana from prying. When she tries to read his thoughts again, he fills them with perverted images that make her blush. “You telepaths are so easily flustered by sex and violence. I should have stayed on guard considering what you did in Anpress. Nothing like that will happen again because we know about you now.”
“More arrogant blustering,” Nyx groans as she turns her back on their enemy. “Let’s get moving because I want to reach this grotto before dark. We eat when we get there. Please lead the way, Fizzle.”
The cultist waits for everyone to start walking before grabbing his spear and sprinting at Nyx. His weapon is raised high above his head and he screams while the other champions draw their weapons. Resembling nothing more than a purple blur streaking out of the canopy, Fizzle wraps his tail around the man’s neck and lifts him off the ground. Using the last of his momentum, the drite imitates Timoran by spinning and hurling the cultist at the lagoon. The adventurers watch in stunned silence as the man skips on the water three times before a Judge appears to swallow him whole.
“Bad man make mistake,” the drite growls in a deep voice. He lands on Nyx’s head and releasing a puff of rainbow mist from his nostrils. “Fizzle not as nice as friends.”
*****
“What in all of Windemere happened here?” Luke asks from the entrance to the grotto. He covers his mouth and nose, but the stench of rotting corpses is impossible to block. “I’m really worried about Delvin and Sari now. This is . . . I can’t even think of the word.”
“Inhuman and wrong,” Timoran suggests, his face pale from the horrible smell. “We should not linger here.”
Nyx ignores her friends and walks into the dead end, a mass of thumb-sized flies bouncing off her magical barrier. The deep pool in the center of the area still bubbles and steams, but it has been turned red from the blood that flows down the sides of the grotto. The corpses of the defeated cultists have been staked to the silver-streaked walls and enchanted to continue bleeding. Drawn the dead bodies, a large colony of yellow beetles have reduced the broad-leafed plants to a few sickly stalks. Nyx watches as one of the dry stems splits and releases a swarm of baby insects before crumbling to dust. Shuddering at the horrific sight, the channeler backs out of the grotto and sits on a log. She jumps when Dariana pats her on the head, the telepath trying to imitate Timoran.
“I have a question, Fizzle,” Nyx says in a faint voice. The drite lands in her lap and continues staring at the carnage. “Did you and the others do this?”
“Fizzle and friends only fight to survive,” the dragon answers, his tail hanging limp behind him. Sniffing the air, he briefly catches the scent of something alive and looks up at a wandering pangolin. “We try rest here. Judge Feeders attack. We fight. Sari not happy. Feel sick. We leave bodies alone. Not want stay.”
“It is possible that another enemy of these cultists found the site and decided to take advantage of the slaughter,” Timoran suggests as he moves closer to the entrance. A stale breeze causes him to cover his mouth and he swiftly retreats to an aromatic vine that he places to his nose. “I fear that our friends, and now us, have stepped into the middle of another war. Is it possible that the Baron is behind this?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, but I’m not sure my father would get involved in something like this,” Dariana explains while rubbing her temples. A chorus of psychic screams is streaming from the corpses and their faces contort whenever she looks directly at them. “I don’t have a lot of information and there’s a spell on the bodies that is breaking my concentration. These people are committing persecution hunts, which is not the Baron’s style. For all his faults, my father never saw the point in hating an entire race. He considers it a mentality that causes too much division and could prevent him from forging a cohesive army. Then again, he could be using a local issue to weaken a potential threat. The fae-blood are a powerful force, especially if they are connected to Delvin’s temple. Another possibility is that we’
ve walked into a conflict that Stephen started for fun and forgot about. I’m sorry, but there’s really no way to tell what is going on right now.”
“The sadism and cruelty does make me think of your brother,” Luke admits as he notices something on a nearby tree. Taking a closer look, he finds human footprints running up the bark and disappearing into the dark canopy. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything here. Fizzle mentioned a temple where the final attack happened. We should go there and try to find the source of this mess. Considering the cultists don’t have our friends, the plan to take their organization apart piece by piece is kind of pointless. At least for now. How far do you think we can get before it becomes too dark to travel?”
“Temple several days,” Fizzle answers with a shiver. The dragon growls at a new scent and scares a rodent from the underbrush. “Too many bad smells. Something wrong. We need leave now.”
With a sigh of frustration, Timoran takes a sip from his flask and strains his ears to locate even a peep of bird song. “Fizzle is right. This area is devoid of life beyond scavengers and insects, which makes me think it is cursed. My main concern is that we do not know who took our friends. There is also the question of who committed this atrocity. For all we know, a third party could be involved in this war and they are the ones with our friends. Can any of us find something to track? I hear nothing, but maybe there is a mental or magical trail that can guide us to an answer.”
“I attempted magic sight while I was in there,” Nyx admits, extending her hand toward the barbarian. He hands her the flask and she takes a sip, a puff of smoke leaving her mouth when she exhales. “It wasn’t pretty and I learned very little. There’s a barrier on the entrance, but it’s weak. Complicated enchantments on the bodies will make them bleed forever and never entirely rot even though they stink. I don’t think we’re going to find anything useful here. Unless I try to raise a spirit, but necrocasting is a step I don’t want to take. Even if I wasn’t already pushing my limits, I’m not really sure I want to toy with the local ghosts. Given the treatment of the bodies, I doubt they would be very friendly.”
Charms of the Feykin Page 6