Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) (16 page)

“Don’t worry,” says a halfling girl as she approaches the strangers. “Things will get better. Neberith will send help.”

Sari tousles the yawning child’s curly hair and whispers, “I’m sure you’re right, little one. You’re very wise.”

“Come on, little sister,” Nyx urges while easing her friend along. “With any luck, we’re the help that was sent.”

They hurry to catch up with the others who are already inside the central tower. Nyx and Sari skid to a stop when the bright candlelight creates blipping stars in their vision. The circular room is expansive with a surprising amount of open space and only a few doors that lead to small offices. Simple wooden cabinets of healing supplies cover the walls, but many of them are nearly depleted. Robed halflings hurry up and down the spiral staircase in the middle of the room as they bring finished medicines down from the upper floors. A network of railed paths run from the stairs to the other floors of the tower, all of the walkways filled with hard-working figures. Hearing squeaky wheels behind them, Nyx and Sari step out of the way of a priest with a cart of freshly picked herbs. They are surprised that he is able to effortlessly push his load up the stairs without dropping a single item.

The noise is chaotic, but they see that the activity is highly organized by a redheaded halfling standing on a desk. She is dressed in a floral shirt and simple pants that are tucked into her red, high-heeled boots. Unlike the quiet priests, the energetic woman is barking orders through a megaphone. As if she has eyes in the back of her head, she whirls around to shout at a worker who is trying to flirt with a girl. With a comical yelp, the young man grabs his basket of medicines and sprints out of the building.

“Are you Mayor Pam Learim?” Timoran politely asks, amused that the woman is eye level with him.

“Yup,” the mayor curtly replies, extending her hand to the barbarian. She pats him on the arm when she notices he is holding Luke. “What can I do for you? You can see that we’re very busy here, but I’m sure a priest can get something for your friend. It won’t be much since we need the strong stuff for the epidemic.”

“Actually, he’s fallen to the living curse that’s struck the area,” Delvin says, pausing when everyone in the tower goes silent. “Did I say something wrong? I thought the priests would have figured out it was a curse by now.”

“They know, but they’re trying to keep it a secret,” Pam whispers, holding up her hand for attention. She raises the metal megaphone to her lips and takes a deep breath. “No need to worry! These people are from out of town and jumped to a creative conclusion. You can tell that the woman in the red shirt is a caster and their friend is infected with a disease that is obviously only for sky creatures. Rest assured that this is nothing more than a new disease that the Neberith Temple can handle! Keep in mind that his companions show no symptoms, so it is safe to assume that there is no threat to the citizens.”

The priests and workers gradually go back to their duties, the noise returning to its full volume. Sitting on the table, Pam urges the adventurers to gather around her to avoid anyone overhearing them. Luke slips from Timoran’s arms and steadies himself on the table, his body wobbling from the exertion.

The mayor warily eyes the sickly forest tracker while speaking to her guests. “If we call it a curse then people will assume there’s nothing they can do. A disease can be cured and the work is helping people keep their hopes up. So how did this one get sick? Is he a winged elf? I know the nearby colony has been struck pretty hard, but they’ve quarantined themselves to prevent the spread.”

“Luke is a unique case,” Nyx calmly explains, reaching out to steady her friend. “He shares his body with a spirit beast, which happens to be a griffin. It appears the connection makes him susceptible to this . . . disease. We’re not sure how to gauge his progression, so we were hoping someone could help.”

Pam scratches her head while turning her attention to an approaching halfling. The blonde priest hands her a scroll, the old holy man scratching at his fake eye. She reads over the simple request for aid and signs at the bottom without hesitation before throwing the scroll to the patient man. He bows to the adventurers and turns on his heels to march into the crowd.

“It’s gotten so bad that we need to call in favors,” the mayor explains with a pride-crushing sigh. Crossing her arms, the tired halfling glances at the elevated walkways and gathers her thoughts. “I don’t know how far along your friend is. The bigger and stronger the beast, the longer it will live. This also means the infected creature suffers more. We think amount of exposure might have something to do with it too. A few of our people have seen something we’re calling the Dark Wind.”

“We saw that too,” Sari interrupts, the gypsy barely able to control her volume. “That’s why we thought it is what it is. There seemed to be some sentience to the thing when it went after Fizzle here. He was able to avoid getting touched and destroyed it when it tried to go after Luke.”

For the first time, Pam looks at the purple drite and nods her head. “I was wondering why your dragon friend was healthy. You should bring him to John Aneveom who is the head priest of Neberith. He’s on the top floor researching the Dark Wind. Poor guy keeps swearing there’s a way to block the infection, but only a handful of people believe him. Your friend should be able to help. At the very least, a drite’s knowledge and input is always welcome. The few we have in the area have been too sick to be of assistance.”

“Fizzle go!” the tiny dragon declares. He darts into the air and speeds around the pathways, vanishing from sight.

“I’ll keep an eye on our little friend,” Delvin says, patting Luke on the shoulder and heading for the stairs. He whistles a happy tune that the nearby halflings mimic, the song spreading throughout the room.

“He’s surprisingly calm,” the mayor mutters with a crooked smile.

Her expression fades when Luke pitches forward and collapses, his head banging off the table. His body is wracked with spasms and his eyes roll into their sockets. With his mind feeling like it is being scrambled, the last thing the warrior hears is Nyx and Sari shouting his name.

*****

“I’m afraid you’re correct and the Dark Wind is a living curse,” the white-haired halfling says as he finishes examining Fizzle. He brushes powdered herb dust off his light blue robes and settles back into his squeaky chair. “Fizzle’s health tells me that it is a contact curse too, so beasts that avoid touching the Dark Wind will be fine. I might even be able to use that knowledge to create a stronger salve, but I need more supplies.”

“My friends and I wish to help any way we can, Mr. Aneveom,” Delvin states while examining the bottled herbs and potions scattered around the small office. “The caster I travel with said that destroying the source would end the curse. Is that true, sir?”

“Please call me John.”

Realizing that he has been sitting for hours, the halfling stands to massage his tingling legs and limp across the room. He draws a thin book from a shelf and thumbs through it, licking his nimble fingers with every page. The priest mutters to himself, leaving his guests to quietly wait for him to finish his research. Delvin sinks to the wooden floor and crosses his legs, his road weary joints popping with every movement. The sudden noise startles the halfling, who clears his throat and nods apologetically to the warrior.

“This is a record of the living curses that this temple dealt with over the last two hundred years,” John says as he returns to his seat. He puts his thin glasses on and grumbles when they slide to the tip of his nose. “There are various methods of cleansing. Destroying the source is one possibility along with purification and releasing a counter curse into the region. The other priests and I attempted a large scale purification spell a week ago, but the Dark Wind escaped by entering the high clouds. It was a surprising act of self-preservation, which means you’re right that this curse is sentient. In fact, it has a level of intelligence that has not been seen in this region for centuries.”

“No destroy source?” Fizzle asks as he crawls across the floor and peeks out the barely open door. “Luke in pain. Fizzle want help, but no idea. Need make Dark Wind go poof. No more time.”

“Maybe, little one,” the priest replies as he closes the book. He slips his glasses onto his head and puts some cream on the bags under his eyes. “Your friend could last longer than you expect since it is the griffin spirit being attacked. I’ll need to check him when we’re done here and see if his condition can reveal any more secrets.”

The drite’s wings flutter and he hovers in front of the halfling. “Fix friend now! Then we kill curse.”

“Patience, Fizzle,” Delvin whispers, standing in case he has to grab the excited dragon. Even as he thinks of a plan, he realizes he is too tired to catch Fizzle and any attempt would probably end with him on the floor. “So it sounds like destroying the source is our only option. At the very least, it means no more Dark Wind can be produced. I’m assuming you need someone to do the legwork on this because you’re tied up here. My friends and I can handle the hunt once we make Luke comfortable.”

Screams erupt from outside and John scrambles to the circular window, a foul breeze already wafting through the opening. He watches the citizens throwing blankets over the sick beasts and retreating for cover. Straining his neck, the priest sees streams of Dark Wind heading for Fyric from the southwest. They are violently reflected by a barrier of fire that appears around the town and covers it in light and warmth. Buzzing like a swarm of enraged bees, the living curse takes the form of several powerful arms and batters at the shield. Unable to make a dent in the city’s defenses, the streams merge to create a thick river of Dark Wind that flows out of sight. Glancing at the ground, John notices Nyx standing in the open with rolling flames surrounding her body.

“That caster is a force to be reckoned with,” the priest says, turning back to Delvin with a nervous smirk. “It appears the Dark Wind has decided to attack Fyric directly. This makes me wonder if there’s something else going on here or even a specific target.”

“The Dark Wind was designed to draw my friends and I to the area and infect Luke Callindor,” Delvin explains as he listens to the voice of the mayor shouting orders. The warrior goes to the small window, enjoying the crisp breeze that flows into the room. “The thought crossed my mind when I saw how violently he reacted to the curse compared to the animals. Our enemies are behind this epidemic, which means this has something to do with us. I was hoping it was nothing more than an attempt to stop us from getting to the Widowhorn, but now I’m worried there’s more to this. I apologize for bringing this disaster to your doorstep.”

“So you’re the champions that all the gods are whispering about,” John declares with a small laugh. His hazel eyes glimmer as he stares at Delvin with renewed interest. “Priests all over Ralian have heard of you during their prayers. We’re not sure what’s going on, but it appears it’s bigger than most of us expected. Guess I should show you the location of the Dark Wind source and leave it in your hands.”

“You knew where this is coming from?”

“Yes, but a barrier is blocking everyone from getting there.”

Fizzle hisses and weaves his tail in the air. “Stephen make shield. Want only us to fight. Fizzle smell trap.”

“It’s amazing how often traps fail when the target knows about the danger,” the warrior says while patting the drite on the head. “Not as often as one would like, but it happens. Some of us made a mercenary career out of ruining plans.”

Rummaging through the papers on his desk, the priest hunts for a long scroll that is notched along the edges. He unrolls the parchment, revealing a faded map that shows the northern shore of the L’dandrin River to the southern edge of the Guldrack Mountains. John examines the scroll to locate the small dot that he wants to point out to Delvin. It is a faint pinprick of ink that takes his strained eyes nearly a minute to find. A voice in the back of his head reminds him to gets his vision checked again, but the halfling silences it with a fake cough.

“Make a plan and recover your strength,” he whispers, his finger quivering on the crinkly parchment. “Your enemies have corrupted the Cave of Winds, which provides the pure breeze to our lands.”

“Why are you so scared?”

“It is holy ground, so there’s no telling what such corruption has produced. There’s bound to be something angry and evil inside.”

Delvin puts his hands in his pockets and heads for the door, shaking his head in amusement. “Story of my life these days, sir.”

*****

The Widowhorn rumbles as the titans stomp and bellow around its rocky base. With a solitary arm sticking out of their chest, the towering creatures grab boulders and spin to hurl the stones at their ascending targets. Their projectiles explode against a crackling barrier and the three-eyed giants shield their faces from the rain of jagged shards. The titans shake the mountain and rile the horned spiders that scramble out from between the forked peaks. Seeing the small band of chaos elves, the brown-haired arachnids swarm forward. Their curved horns strike the powerful shield spell and the first wave is sent tumbling down the mountain by a burst of paralyzing force. Several of the titans grab the fallen spiders to drag them away and prepare the giant arachnids for dinner.

“I think we’re as high as we’re going to get,” Trinity announces. She snaps her fingers at the rushing spiders, scattering them with a bolt of lightning. “Can you maintain the shield while I prepare?”

“We’ll do our best, your majesty,” three female chaos elves declare.

Focusing on the violet enhancer gems in their foreheads, the trio of young women hold hands and chant. A sputter of energy encircles the small group, causing the rest of the band to draw their weapons. The spiders surge forward to strike the weaker barrier and pushes the spell along the mountainside. All of the chaos elves are jostled from the violent movement, which stops when Trinity fires several acid blasts into the swarm. Rapid snaps of her fingers sends a barrage of wind blasts and force javelins at the arachnids, knocking many of them to the titans below. The eight-legged creatures are about to retreat when a boulder explodes against the barrier and the spell shatters with an ear-wrenching crash.