Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) (12 page)

“I won’t attack, but I can still argue with him,” the half-elf defiantly states, crossing his arms and leaning against the railing. “Where are you going after we part ways?”

The fireskin stands and fixes the warrior with a stare as his eyes turn from gold to a dull ivory. “Are you enjoying being a hero, young Callindor? I heard you took your first human life a few months ago. I’ve wondered how you’re coping with it considering you’re not as seasoned as your friends. Even Sari has seen more death than you and has developed a method to cope with it. She has yet to take a human life as far as I know, but I can tell that she would do it without hesitation if the situation was right.”

Luke scratches his head and stares at his scuffed boots, refusing to meet Isaiah’s piercing gaze. He has been working to put the vivid memory of killing Kayn out his mind for a long time, the memory returning whenever he does his nightly meditation. All of his friends have tried to convince him that he had no choice, which he agrees with every time. Yet the thoughts of his sabers sinking into flesh similar to his own and the warmth of human blood on his fingers still make him shudder.

“You felt no guilt about the orc bandits,” Isaiah mentions, interrupting the warrior’s thoughts. He grins at the frowning half-elf and pats his left arm, a strange throbbing running up the caster’s fingers. “It isn’t that you took Kayn’s life because it was in battle. You think it’s because he was human, but let’s remember that orcs are not inherently evil. The Growk Council is a benevolent regime while the rogue bandits are those who choose to follow the old ways. On the surface, killing one of those anarchists is no different than killing a crazed gypsy.”

“It’s that I wanted to kill Kayn,” Luke admits, rubbing his arms because of the cold and his own uneasiness. “The orc bandits came at me and were on the attack. I rationalized them as part of the job and self-defense with no prior connection. Kayn took Sari and nearly killed me. I wanted him to suffer, so I felt a strange rage when he was dead. It was like I wondered how he could die and leave me still wanting to hurt him.”

“You felt like a monster.”

“Only because I can’t think of a better word.”

Fizzle nuzzles his friend’s palm as he says, “Stephen feel?”

“Maybe monster is a good word,” the half-elf says, hoisting the drite onto his shoulder and scratching the dragon’s blunt horns. “I’m handling it, Isaiah. If the others can come to terms with taking a human life then I can too. After all, I’m a destined champion.”

“Well I suggest you wake up your fellow champions and prepare to leave before a storm arrives,” Isaiah claims, peering toward the south. He looks through the crystal on his staff, licking his lips in anticipation. “It looks like a rough one, but you can reach the denser forest before it strikes if you leave within the next hour. Follow a footpath fringed by blackberry bushes to cut off a few miles from your journey. The thick trees will block the worst and there are rocky outcroppings to give you cover if need be.”

“Thanks, sir,” Luke says before hurrying inside.

Fizzle flies over to Isaiah’s staff and lands on the crystal, his tiny claws gripping the smooth surface. “Dragon man worried. He smell bad air and Luke target. Fizzle feel badness. Dist . . distur . . . quake coming. It on breeze.”

“I know and I will look into it, my little friend. Please don’t tell him because I fear he would try to get involved. It is unclear why they are targeting Luke, but I believe it is not because he is heading for his temple. There is more to this.”

“Fizzle protect Luke. Promise.”

A distant thud causes the drite to turn to the east, his eyes narrowing at the sight of hundreds of birds racing into the sky. Another boom rumbles and Fizzle recognizes it as the sound of giant footsteps. Darting high above the town, he scans the forest and sees the silhouettes of three Draconic heads in the morning fog. They weave from side to side, growing bigger as the creatures near Sprildon. Their movements and closeness confuses the tiny dragon, who cannot believe three Weapon Dragons could be packed together so tightly. If anything, their wings would grind against each other and prevent them from quickly going airborne. Unwilling to let the monster reach the village, Fizzle soars toward it and casts a wind spell to clear the fog. The sound of a rustling robe makes him to glance backwards to see Isaiah floating behind him on a crimson cloud.

Sprildon has faded into the fog by the time they reach the approaching creature, its true form making the pair stop and struggle to believe what they see. All three heads of the solitary Weapon Dragon hiss at Fizzle and Isaiah, oily foam dripping from its lips. The beast rears back on its long hind legs and spreads its four bronze wings over the trees. With a loud creaking, the skeletal middle head opens its mouth and spits a plume of fire. Fizzle aims his wind spell at the blast, sending the dangerous flames into the clouds where they dispel. The monster is very slow as it tries to bat its enemies out of the air with club-like hands.

“It appears they are trying to create more dangerous weapons,” Isaiah says, drifting away from the swinging limbs. He mutters an incantation and a spire of earth erupts through the monster’s axe-bladed tail, pinning the creature. “I cannot do much here, little drite. My magic could destroy the forest if I use too much. This is why I seek to avoid such conflicts.”

“Dragon man no worry. Fizzle fight,” he happily declares. The drite darts around the Weapon Dragon, searching for the best place to strike. “It loud and breaking. Fizzle think it not ready for fight.”

“It does seem unfinished,” the caster agrees, moving closer to the flailing beast. He casts a barrier around himself and watches a clubbed foot harmlessly bounce off his head. “They must have sent it as a test or to gather information on the champions’ abilities. We should destroy this abomination now.”

Fizzle smacks the wheezing head on right with his tail, surprised that the metal skull cracks. “Dying thing not last long. Not worth poof spell. Beat to rubble and get apples.”

The drite’s body glows a dark purple as he builds up speed, his red wings fluttering blurs at his sides. He can hear Isaiah create a cage around the Weapon Dragon in an effort to prevent it from escaping and making sure the parts do not scatter about the forest. With the giant beast gasping for air, Fizzle rams its side and splinters its brittle hide. Passing underneath its belly, he strikes the monster’s knee with his tail and the leg crumples into a wreckage of metal and rotting flesh. The drite rapidly headbutts the construct, sending a rain of pieces onto the trampled snow below. Looping above the monster, Fizzle blasts through all three necks and turns to watch the Draconic heads crash to the ground.

“Too easy,” he says as he lands on Isaiah’s shoulder. He peers at the fireskin, who is drifting closer to the rapidly decaying body. “You think wrong. Fizzle agree. No boom spell or darkness ooze. Why it weak?”

“I’m more concerned with how it got here from Shayd. It seems to have a very short lifespan and loses strength rapidly, so traveling over the oceans would be too taxing.” A gentle breeze carries the thick scent of tropical flowers with a hint of monkey fur to the caster’s nose. “That must be what happened. Nyder Fortune seems to have created a factory in the southern jungles. Odd that I never found evidence, but that region is filled with secrets. Though he could simply have a permanent portal there to send the Weapon Dragons into Ralian.”

“False dragon once stronger? No nice news.”

“I hate to leave the area, but I cannot let this mystery remain. These new beasts could be a precursor to something worse,” Isaiah states, tightly gripping his shining staff. The fog clears and he looks back at the village, none of its citizens or guests aware of the beast’s presence. “I promise to return to the champions when I have searched the jungles. Until then, I need you to watch over them, little one, especially young Luke.”

The drite scratches his head with his tail, thoughtfully puffing out rings of rainbow smoke from his nostrils. “Why Luke so big?”

“Please don’t tell him this, but the Callindor is the most vulnerable of the champions,” the fireskin replies, making quick gestures in the air. A curtain of mist falls over the area, creating an illusion of lush forest to hide the rapidly rotting Weapon Dragon. “The Baron’s agents will target the weakest champion to break the union. At first it was Sari and they used her to learn more about what makes their enemies function on the aural level. She is much stronger now, which puts Luke at the bottom of the power ladder. It is his recklessness and limited true form that make him the perfect target. Through his destruction, they can fracture the prophecy and pick the others off at their leisure. Imagine the pain Nyx and Sari would feel at Luke’s demise. They would do something foolish to avenge him and that would be the end of the champions.”

“Fizzle guard friends. Gods make Fizzle strong. What dragon man think will happen?”

“Nothing good,” Isaiah mutters as he reaches into his robes. He pulls out a green apple, the stem briefly glowing in the emerging sunlight. “This is from my private orchard and I always keep one on me. I fear that you may need this in the near future, so hold onto it for a true emergency. Once eaten, it can increase the power of your next spell. All of it must be consumed for it to work.”

Isaiah tosses the magic fruit to Fizzle, who catches it with his tail and rolls it up his back to his snout. With a small pop, the apple vanishes and the drite darts back to Sprildon. The fireskin watches the tiny dragon while spinning his staff over his head. He smiles when he sees Luke and Nyx helping Delvin and Sari out of the tavern. Isaiah’s body fades into a swarm of moths and heads south, their white color blending into the snowy landscape.

*****

Stephen licks his lips as he crouches behind a chimney on the far side of Sprildon, his view of the departing champions clear of obstacles. He fights the temptation to get closer, which gets more difficult when he catches Nyx’s scent. The hungry man is stepping into the open when a hand tugs him back into the shadows. Whirling around with bastard sword in hand, he lets the weapon drop to his side at the sight of General Vile’s ghost-like form.

“Your appetite will get us in trouble,” the halfling whispers as his body becomes solid. “I thought Trinity was keeping you occupied.”

“She has gone to prepare some areas for our next phase,” Stephen says, sheathing his blade. He fixes his ebony hair with an ivory comb that vanishes when he is done. “My appetite is under control for now. I simply wanted to get a better look.”

“The drite is looking for you and the barbarian is on edge,” Vile mentions while he pulls out a spyglass. It telescopes out and he connects it to his eye-patch, the item’s magic letting him track the champions by their heat. “I know it’s not my place, but I urge you to be patient. Your plan is moving ahead and now the biggest threat has been sent elsewhere. All we need to do is escalate the situation.”

The young nobleman steps off the roof and appears on the ground where he waits for his companion to navigate the icy window ledges. “I did expect this to move quicker. The Dark Wind is spreading in a strange crescent and they’re skirting the edge. We need to remedy that and soon. Luke Callindor has already been prepared for the curse, but that means nothing if he reaches Fyric without infection.”

“Is there Dark Wind in that storm? The clouds are darker than those of a regular snowstorm and I see signs of lightning.”

“I have the perfect plan.”

Stephen disappears for a few seconds, returning with a pinky finger-sized cylinder of hollowed oak and a jade pendulum. He gingerly hands the items to Vile, who opens the wooden case to see a thin needle of silver glass. Examining the holder, he finds that it turns into a miniature blowgun that he can use to fire the projectile. The halfling returns the needle to its case and spins the pendulum over his head, slowing down as a loud rumble of thunder rolls from the south. He stops when he notices the storm is moving unnaturally fast toward Sprildon.

“Both of these items require that you get closer than before,” the immortal noble warns. He pats his ally on the head, casually sighing and looking out to the clouds. “This is the risk you must take for the cause. The pendulum is a toy I designed long ago to control malicious weather, so use that to bring the storm to the champions. That is the easy part. Strike Luke Callindor with the attraction needle, which will dissolve into his skin without his notice. This will cause the lightning to strike at him, forcing his transformation into the griffin. The Dark Wind will take care of the rest and you can go back to stalking. I have faith in you, dear General.”

“Are you trying to inspire people like your father does?” Vile curiously asks, tucking the items into a cloak pocket.

“I was trying it out.”

“It was terrible.”

“Inspiring through compliments is not as much fun as using fear and pain.”

“I’m surprised you made it through the sentence.”

“To be honest, I used my magic to hold back my nausea,” Stephen admits, taking a deep breath. He covers his mouth before a foul burp erupts from his gut, the taste making him cringe in disgust. “Being friendly does not go well with my innards. Go after those champions and report to me when they are free of the storm. I will be with Trinity, so don’t expect me to help if you get in trouble.”

“I can handle this,” the halfling says with an insulted scowl. Vile turns on his heel and steps into the street, his cloak shimmering as it camouflages him with the scenery.

His companion walks toward the tavern, stopping when he sees a brief motion on a nearby rooftop. Stephen is unsure if he really saw something, which unnerves him since the movement never reappears. Shrugging off the uncomfortable feeling, he cracks his knuckles and disappears in the blink of an eye.

5

The shrieking wind tears at the leafless branches, driving biting snow onto the struggling travelers. Even Timoran is wearing a wool shirt and a white tiger cloak, their musky scent reminding him of home. A purple snout is poking out from the back of the barbarian’s sweaty clothes, the only sign that Fizzle is with the group. Sari curls against Zander, who sits behind the gypsy and keeps a thick blanket around her. The horses whiney and rear back whenever a burst of lightning brings the desolate forest into clarity. Relying on Nyx’s magic to stay warm and shrink the rising drifts, the adventurers travel in a tight pack. Delvin keeps a tight hold on her as she focuses on retaining a dome of heat that eats at the snow. The caster’s eyes are barely able to stay open due to the deep trance and a side-effect of her body absorbing the chill from the cutting winds.