Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) (14 page)

“Teasing and laughs are perfect for breaking tension.”

“You seem to laugh at my expense a lot.”

“Only because you’re so uptight.”

“I’m serious, not uptight.”

“Then you can join in.”

“Sari!” Luke and Nyx snap.

The forest tracker nearly topples off the horse, a bout of vertigo making him feel like he is about to vomit. The gypsy catches him, struggling to push him back and nearly falling to the ground herself. She locks her lower half in place, causing the horse to grunt and shift its flank in mild discomfort. Fizzle zips between, his tail easing the gypsy back and his small front paws steadying Luke.

“Griffin know. Focus and ask,” the drite suggests.

With a silent nod, Luke closes his eyes and searches for the voice of the griffin. He is distracted by the soothing touch of Sari’s fingers and the sense that Nyx is anxiously staring at him. Concentrating as hard as he can, the half-elf can only find faint traces of the noble beast’s energy. It reminds him of an injured animal hiding in its lair, waiting either to heal or die. For a brief moment, he hears a mournful cry and feels a wave of sorrow wash over him. The sensation weighs heavy on his heart and makes his head swim, the effort to return to full awareness leaving him winded.

“This is why spirit channelers are trouble,” Zander mutters, grunting when Sari elbows him in the ribs. “I meant more for themselves than others. It puts too much pressure on the body.”

“The griffin is badly hurt and needs to recover,” Luke whispers, his voice becoming hoarse and strained. “I don’t have any broken bones, but it’s like my entire body is aching. I think I have a fever too. Could the griffin be using my aura to heal, which is making me feel like this?”

“It’s possible, but I can’t be sure,” Nyx helplessly admits.

“We’ll give Luke a closer look when we reach the hills,” Delvin announces with concern on his face. “How much longer until we arrive?”

Before Zander can answer, the thin fog is blown away by a strong breeze and the small clutch of hills is revealed. Dotted with patches of blue flowers, the tightly packed formations are very inviting to the weary adventurers. Even with all of the dirty snow mounds and their cold appearance, the hills promise shelter for at least a few hours. It is when they get closer that the travelers notice that the area is quiet and still. Even the sky seems to be frozen, the clouds anxiously waiting for something to happen before they go about their business. They see a small herd of elk wander out from behind a distant group of trees, but there is the thick smell of death that hangs in the air.

“Something is not right,” Timoran says, voicing his worry to put the others at ease. He catches the scent of many animals on the stale wind, causing his heart to jump. “There are a lot of birds and other flying beasts here, but I do not see them. They are silent and still, which is unusual for such a large gathering. At the very least, we should be hearing bird song.”

“Zander and I will take point since you have Luke,” Delvin immediately orders, drawing his longsword. “Get ready to ride away if we find trouble. The horses are as tired as we are, so I don’t know how far we’ll get, but we have to try to survive. By the gods, I hope we catch a break.”

“I’m guessing you get into trouble a lot,” the monster hunter says with a smirk.

“You have no idea,” Sari whispers, shivering at the touch of the breeze. “I feel dark magic, Nyxie, but it’s strange.”

“I know,” the caster hisses through gritted teeth. Fire dances within her hair, betraying her growing temper. “Someone cursed the area and I know it was Stephen. I can taste his magic in the air.”

Weapons drawn, the adventurers are on edge as they approach the hills. They slow down when they get close enough to realize that what they thought were mounds of dirty snow are huddled piles of animals. Birds of all sizes have gathered among the hills, all of them wheezing and coughing from a terrible disease. Families of songbirds lay dead on the ground, many of the bodies coated by the fallen snow. The larger creatures are still alive and raise their heads at the sound of the horses, a sea of glassy eyes meeting the travelers.

“This is . . . by the gods . . . why would somebody do this?” Sari asks, leaping off the horse to help a struggling swan. She eases it onto its stomach, casting a minor spell to ease its suffering. “We have to do something.”

“Give me a moment to figure this out,” Nyx replies, her voice numb from shock. The half-elf is already on the ground and wandering among the beasts, Fizzle nervously perched on her shoulder. “I don’t know healing magic, but I can try something if I know the disease. That’s if it’s even a disease. It could be a magical curse, which I think is more likely considering who we’re dealing with. Still I’ve never seen anything on this scale. I mean, I’ve heard stories about the ancient days where evil casters did this, but it’s unheard of these days.”

“Guard Luke and run if we’re attacked, Timoran,” Delvin whispers as everyone else dismounts. He gestures to the forest tracker, who is stumbling forward on quivering legs, before clearing his throat. “We’re not staying long, everyone! We can make camp somewhere else after we look around and try to help the animals. The stench is sickening here, so I’m sure this place is the source of the plague.”

“Not necessarily,” Zander says, drawing his longbow. He cautiously eyes the distant form of a winged hag, the hairy beast dragging herself into the shadows for protection. “The dying animals might have gathered here for a final resting place. I’ve seen it happen before when diseases or curses strike multiple populations in a single region. They could even be trying to contain the epidemic to this area, but that doesn’t explain those elk we saw. That herd was obviously healthy.”

“It is possible that the disease has specific targets,” Timoran suggests, patting the head of his great axe for comfort.

With a small growl, Fizzle launches into the sky and hovers above the hills. His vision spreads for several miles, searching out all of the dying birds and other aerial creatures. Another dying roc is to the east and Fizzle senses that it is the mate of the one that had attacked them. A trio of hippogriffs sit beneath conifers to the north and face each other as they nobly wait for the disease to take them. Tiny pixies are scattered about the landscape, their fragile bodies already showing signs of decay. Death is everywhere the drite looks, upsetting him to the point where rainbow tears trickle down his cheeks.

“Fizzle!” Nyx screams from the ground, snapping him out of his trance.

Plumes of fire erupt around the tiny dragon and deflect a swirling cloud of black mist that was approaching him from behind. As if alive and hungry, the strange substance pounds and scratches at the protective flames. It flies away and circles back to build up enough speed to ram into the shield. The dark mass explodes into smoldering tendrils that swiftly reform into a crackling cloud. Sparkling with cinders, the mist is caught by a breeze and whipped toward the ground. It is heading for Luke when Fizzle darts in the way, the drite unleashing a powerful wind spell that shreds and dispels the black cloud.

“What was that?” Timoran asks, his blue eyes bulging with fear.

“That bastard unleashed a living curse,” Nyx answers, catching her breath and reaching out to hug Fizzle. The dragon shivers from fear and curls his tail around the caster’s waist. “The curse takes a physical form and travels away from the source, which can be almost anything. I’ve read stories where paintings were used to infect a family or a living creature was used to corrupt an area. These spells are extremely rare because they take a very long time to create. Unlike stationary curses, you don’t cast it on a pre-existing object and walk away. You need to forge the source and weave the infection into its aura.”

“Well that’s just great,” Zander groans in frustration. He is about to kick at a stone before realizing it is a barely breathing sparrow, the sight making his heart twist. “The source can be anywhere and anything. You’re stuck unless one of you can track the curse.”

Sari spins around and pats the monster hunter on the cheek, grinning sweetly. “That’s why we’re going to Fyric immediately and getting answers. The locals have to know something, especially in a town with a Neberith Temple. Healers are probably already working to fix this.”

“Guys,” Luke says in a faint voice.

“We’ll travel away from here and rest for a few hours,” Delvin declares, holding his hand up to stop the gypsy from arguing. “I know we should hurry, but the horses are exhausted. They need to rest or they’ll collapse, which means it will take longer to reach Fyric. Please trust me, Sari, and I’ll make sure we get there within a day or two.”

“Something’s wrong,” the forest tracker whispers as his body tenses up.

“I think we should take an hour to search the area for clues,” Zander suggests, putting his longbow away. “If we can figure out anything about this curse then it could help the healers find a cure. All we know is that it’s a black mist and it has a mind of its own.”

Luke can barely open his mouth as he utters, “Not good.”

“It appears to only affect birds,” Timoran says, taking a deep sniff of the foul air. The barbarian’s eyes fall on a dying harpy and the corpse of a pegasus. “No. It is not only birds, but all creature of the sky.”

Dropping his great axe, the barbarian dives to catch Luke by the shoulders and eases him to the ground. The half-elf is wracked with seizures and black foam leaks from the corners of his mouth. Violently shoving his friend away, Luke rolls onto his stomach and pushes himself onto all fours. He heaves and groans as he vomits black and red ooze, the swirling liquid reeking of decay. With a primal scream, his back straightens and his head jerks back in agony. A numbness consumes his left arm, emanating from the skeletal handprint under his leather bracer. Collapsing back to the ground, Luke gasps for air and shudders in pain.

“I can do this,” Sari declares, taking the forest tracker’s face in her hands.

A spell twinkling on her lips, Sari leans in for a kiss. She yelps when a burst of force knocks her away and Nyx hits her with a paralysis spell. Mouthing an apology, the violet-eyed caster puts her hands over her head and coats them in raw aura. She slams her open palms against Luke’s chest and her pure magic surges throughout his body. Nyx continues pumping aura into the forest tracker until his body relaxes and he slips into a deep slumber.

*****

Sari gently rubs Fizzle’s belly as she sits at the top of a snowy hill, the blue moon barely visible through the clouds. With a silence spell enveloping her, the gypsy no longer hears the constant sound of dying animals. Tears still stream down her cheeks whenever she looks out at the vague forms on the ground. Sari turns back to the sky, a small sob escaping when she takes a shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry about hitting you,” Nyx whispers as she passes through the wall of silence and startles the gypsy. The half-elf’s violet eyes shimmer and some of the snow melts away, clearing a dry space for her to sit. “I didn’t want you to get sick too and I panicked. You really need to think before delivering spells with a kiss.”

“This coming from the woman who knocked me away with a force bolt and paralyzed me,” Sari bitterly snaps, refusing to look her friend in the eye. She shifts her damp skirts, barely sensing the cold water seeping through to her skin. “We already saw that it only affected sky creatures, so I was safe.”

“You wanted to taste dark magic infused vomit?”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Exactly.”

Nyx puts her arm around Sari’s shoulders, pulling the gypsy close and sharing her natural warmth. She lets her friend sob and cry while fighting back the urge to join in. Several times the half-elf feels like her heart is about to shatter, but she pushes the sensation away with the need to console the gypsy. Clearing her throat, Nyx sings a lilting tune in Calican that carries across the hills. Minutes pass before the song stops and Sari slips out of her friend’s hold.

“Thanks, Nyxie. You should sing more often,” she says, wiping the last of her tears with a handkerchief. She gently removes the snoring drite from her lap, staring at him with mild curiosity. “Do we know why Fizzle isn’t sick?”

“I can only assume that he hasn’t been touched by that black mist. Luke must have absorbed the stuff in the storm while Fizzle hid in Timoran’s cloak. The little guy was really lucky,” Nyx answers while reaching out to touch the dragon’s wings. She does a quick check of his aura, being careful not to disturb the tired creature. “I’m keeping an eye on him in case he shows symptoms. If Stephen’s aura is behind this curse then there’s a good chance that Fizzle will remain unaffected. He told us that he was granted immunity to time magic. Not enough to defeat Stephen for good, but it keeps the bastard at bay until one of us can kill him.”

“Fizzle the champion of the champions,” the gypsy declares with a forced giggle. She glances over her shoulder at the small campfire below. “Is Luke going to be okay? This curse hit him so violently.”

Nyx flicks her hand to create three small figures that float a few inches off the ground. Each one takes the form of Luke, but with a network of glowing lines running within the illusions. The center one is dazzlingly bright while the other two are visibly dimmer. There is a putridness to the middle figure, the light a toxic green instead of the bright aura of a champion. Sari leans forward to examine the nearest figure, noting that there is a subtle darkness emanating from its left arm. Nose scrunched and attention focused, she crawls through the first two fake Lukes to check the furthest one. A similar darkness is ebbing from its chest, occasionally consuming the form entirely.

“Not sure if little brother is lucky or not,” Nyx says, yawning and shaking her head clear of her growing drowsiness. “The living curse has infected him through the griffin and it’s spreading very slowly, which is causing him a lot of pain. His aura is fending it off, but he isn’t a caster or a priest, so it’s like an infant fighting a centaur. Now here is where it gets strange. The two side illusions show residual dark energy, which is battling the living curse. One is from the scar left by the Hellfire Elf’s Chaoswind and the other is from the Lich’s mark on his forearm. It’s like a typhoon of magic is ripping through his body. I’ve been pushing pure aura into him to keep things under control, so he’s stable and comfortable for now.”