Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) (21 page)

Timoran draws his great axe and urges his thundering steed to move away from his companions, hoping to draw their pursuer’s attention. He glances over his shoulder to see that the wyvern is cautiously flying high above the trees. The reptilian beast’s murky eyes are locked on Zander, but the creature rapidly blinks as if it can barely see. Folding its leathery wings, the wyvern dips low enough to scratch the treetops with its snout and belly. With a frustrated snort, it lifts back into the air where a coughing fit causes it to fly erratically.

“The wyvern is not doing well,” the barbarian announces, stopping his brave steed to let the others pull ahead. “I will take up the rear guard. Zander will fire if he has an opening. Sari and Fizzle will protect Luke, but avoid using magic. Our enemies could be watching, so we need to stay discreet and retain the element of surprise.”

“You realize we have a wyvern chasing us, right? Do you honestly think your enemies won’t notice this, but a few bursts of magic will draw their attention?” Zander asks. He takes another blind shot, the glistening arrow slicing through the creature’s ankle. “Looks like the thing is panicked and has its defenses up. All of the impenetrable scales have been moved to the torso and skull to protect the vitals from injury.”

“I told you something would happen,” Sari says, her arms locked to prevent Luke from falling off the horse.

“You’re proud of this?” the monster hunter asks in shock.

“I would have been worried if we got to Gale Hollow without trouble,” she admits with an awkward smile. Unfreezing one of her arms, she waves her hand and sends a billowing cloud of snow into the face of the approaching wyvern. “How are you doing, Luke?”

“I keep thinking my fingernails are slipping off,” the half-elf whispers, shuddering in disgust.

With a wild roar, the enraged predator crashes through the treetops and slams into the frozen earth. Branches stick out of the soft parts of the beast’s body, amber blood flowing onto the snow. A mournful sound rolls from the wyvern’s mouth as it staggers to its feet and folds its wings against its body. The leather cracks and splinters from the stress of being bent, black mist drifting from the damage. Cocking its head to the side, the diseased creature listens for the horses and breaks into a stumbling run when one whinnies.

The muffled steps of the wyvern follow the travelers as they charge through the forest. It is unable to catch up, but the desperate predator musters enough strength to remain on the heels of its potential meal. An arrow slams into the creature’s right eye, causing it to shriek and smash several trees with its barbed tail. Enraged by the pain, the wyvern sprints forward and gets dangerously close to Timoran’s horse. Its mouth opens to reveal rows of blackened teeth and it is about to bite into the steed’s rump when a cloud of rainbow smoke engulfs its face. Confused and startled, the predator crashes into a solid maple and topples onto its side.

“We not have long,” Fizzle announces as he lands behind the barbarian. “Curse take over near-dragon. Resist Fizzle breath and return.”

“Every second helps,” Timoran states as they round a bend. He sheathes his great axe and relaxes when they pass under a tight network of branches that goes on for miles. “The wyvern will attempt to find us from the sky. Even if it knows where we are, it cannot break through such a thick canopy without risking damage to its limbs and wings.”

“The beast didn’t seem to mind before,” Zander interrupts, his longbow ready for the slightest sign of danger. “It’s going to be really angry when it finds us again.”

“He has a point, Timoran,” Luke says with a yawn that becomes a cough. “That wyvern will smash into here once it smells us. It’s scared and crazed because it doesn’t know what’s happening to its body.”

Sari slips the reins into Luke’s hands and softly chants in a musical voice. Snow rises from the soil and whirls around the horses’ feet, causing them to nervously whinny. Drifting toward the canopy, the mass of flakes stick to the branches and becomes a thick covering. Their path is cloaked in darkness, so Fizzle flies a few feet ahead, his body shining to light the way. A savage gust of wind shakes the treetops and the sound of crunching snow echoes throughout the dark tunnel.

“This should keep us safe,” Sari whispers before going back to her chanting.

“I think the wyvern passed overhead,” Zander says, relaxing his bowstring. He takes a deep breath, but finds that he cannot bring himself to put his weapon away. “It’s only a matter of time before it figures out where we are and attacks. Those things aren’t stupid. Couldn’t you play nice with it like the other one, Timoran?”

“This one is too far gone,” the barbarian replies. He rides alongside Sari and Luke, leaning over to get a better look at the half-elf. “Your skin is turning pale again. I worry that we are bringing you too close to the living curse’s source. How is your strength, my friend?”

“He’ll probably lie,” Zander interrupts with a scoffing snort.

“I trust him to be honest.”

The trees shake as the wyvern passes again, the beast’s mournful call sounding as if it is miles away. With nervous snickers, the horses stop and refuse to take another step. Even Timoran feels an anxiety grip his stomach, a primal sense of danger driving him to be extremely careful. The wyvern flies overhead again and the travelers swear the predator is crying in an oddly human voice.

“It’s up to something,” the monster hunter whispers.

“I’m a little queasy and weak,” Luke finally replies, unaware of the tension within the group. He grimaces when he feels something crawling beneath his skin. “I get strange sensations like parts of me are going to fall off or worms are about to burst from my body. Almost like I’m filled with maggots. My sound sight doesn’t work and the griffin spirit is a constant whimper in the back of my mind. The good news is that I can still wiggle my toes.”

“Fizzle feel sleepy,” the drite chimes in as he returns to Timoran’s horse. “Curse taking more aura. Fizzle need rest. Produce more aura in sleep.”

“We’re in trouble if he isn’t ready to fight by the time we reach the caves,” Zander complains, jumping at the sound of the wyvern’s claws skittering along the treetops. “That thing is really making me nervous. It knows we’re here and it’s trying to think of a way in. It might not be as berserk as you think, but it could be building up to that.”

“Calm down or you’ll bring the wyvern down on our heads,” Sari snaps, breaking her trance. She focuses on the ceiling of snow while icy sweat trickles down her cheeks. “Do you think we can wait here and the wyvern will go away?”

“The infected animals don’t have time to spare, so they’re going to become obsessed with whatever they think will help them,” Luke answers, rubbing his palms against the gems in his saber pommels. He knows the rubies are smooth, but they feel like they are grating his sensitive flesh. “We need to do a mercy kill.”

“Finally talking some sense,” the monster hunter states with a grin. He urges his horse to ride far ahead and whistles. “Come and get me!”

With a furious roar, the wyvern destroys a chunk of the snow covered branches with its deadly tail. The cold powder and pieces of wood fall over the adventurers as the beast whirls around for another pass. Flying low, the wyvern spins and smashes the trees to its left. Sari and Luke’s horse rears back, sending the half-elf to the ground where he is nearly trampled. Timoran leaps off his mount and draws his great axe as the hungry predator lands with a thud. It whips its tail at the barbarian, who drives his weapon into the barbed end.

“Keep it distracted,” Zander whispers, aiming at the wyvern’s throat.

The hunter is about to fire when the creature charges forward and chomps through the jugular of his horse. With the flick of a wing, it knocks the dead steed over and the corpse pins Zander to the ground. The wyvern tries to move closer, but Timoran pulls it back and twists the embedded axe to draw its full attention. Black foam and fresh blood dribbling from its mouth, the creature turns to roar at the source of fresh agony. It flicks its tail to throw the barbarian at Fizzle, who is darting around and waiting for an opening. The drite dodges the large man and finds himself heading for the greedy mouth of the wyvern. He dips under the predator’s chin to escape, but is snatched out of the air by one of its splayed feet.

“Curse make it fast!” Fizzle cries, squirming beneath the bigger creature. “Near-dragon dead. Fizzle no sense aura. It only curse now.”

Timoran bellows as he charges and swings his axe at the wyvern’s chest. He sees the beast flex its muscles and the thicker, dull brown scales gather over its heart. The weapon harmlessly bangs off the natural armor and he is kicked away by the powerful hind legs. Sari hurls daggers and Zander fires with his longbow, but their projectiles barely phase the numb monster. With a predatory hiss, the wyvern bends down to Fizzle and opens its mouth.

Loud and clumsy footsteps cause the wyvern to turn and hiss, the scent of its enemy having been masked by its own infection. The noise is cut off as Luke drives his sabers into the beast’s head and a black energy swirls around his blades. The reptilian creature’s skin bubbles and pops as the churning aura rips through its veins. A look of relief and thanks is on the wyvern’s face before its head pops in a small blast of black ooze.

The congealed Dark Wind covers Luke and sinks into his skin, the dark energy around his blades growing brighter. A sputtering of pink erupts from the wooden ring on his right hand, the engraving of dancing pixies spinning wildly. The opposing energies spiral around the half-elf and batter at his body, driving him to his knees. He tries to drop his sabers, but the dark magic has stuck them to his palms. Luke unleashes a horrifying scream as a feathery wing bursts from his back and uselessly flaps around.

“I got him!” Sari shouts, diving off her horse and pouncing on the half-elf. She attempts to chant a spell, but is knocked away by the flailing wing.

Fizzle darts at Luke and clings to his chest, the drite taking a deep breath. The black and pink auras flow into his mouth and he fights the urge to vomit. Once the griffin wing retracts into his friend’s body and the half-elf passes out, the drite soars into the wintery sky. A rainbow cloud appears with the flashing of purple lightning around the edges. As Fizzle darts away from the released energy, the magic erupts in a booming explosion and the energy shockwave runs across all of Ralian.

“Fizzle have bad taste,” the drite says in a hoarse voice. He gracefully lands next to Luke and spits rainbow slime from his mouth, the muck sprouting colorful flowers when they hit the frozen earth. “Not know what happened. Luke asleep and Fizzle need rest. Wake us when at cave.”

Timoran picks the tiny dragon up and places him on his shoulder, wrapping the tail around his neck. “I will always be humbled by how much courage is in your small body. Thank you for everything you have done and everything you will do, my little friend. Take a nap on my shoulder and I will carry you the rest of the way.”

“Thank you, Timoran,” Fizzle mumbles in Draconic, his eyes already closing.

*****

The younger halflings cover their mouths to stifle their laughter as they listen to Delvin make baby talk at the red-scaled creature in his lap. The infant Verenstone Dragon flaps its fiery wings every time the warrior tickles its red-scaled belly. It squeaks and purrs when he strokes the ridge of black fur running down its back. A ball of orange fire circles its tail, occasionally flickering weakly from the Dark Wind infection. Whenever the beast has a coughing fit, Delvin massages its chest to calm the tiny creature down. Both of them are knocked over when the full-sized Verenstone Dragon, that the warrior is leaning against, unleashes a powerful sneeze. The blast of fire arcs into the air where it splits the distant clouds, briefly bathing Fyric in warm sunlight.

“Don’t worry. We’ll have you and your baby healthy soon,” Delvin tells the dragon, patting her on the side. He gently places the infant near its mother’s head and jogs over to where a group of priests are tending to a colony of sprites.

On the other side of the courtyard, Nyx struggles to get bandages around the bleeding neck of a winged wolf. The scared beast growls at her, stopping when her hair ignites in a threatening display of fire. The rest of the pack gathers behind their injured leader, eyeing Nyx with hunger and caution. When the bandage falls off, the frustrated caster coats her hand in flames and cauterizes the fresh wound before the animal can react. With terrified yelps, the entire pack takes to the air and retreats to the top of a nearby tower.

“Maybe you shouldn’t try to help us,” suggests a smiling halfling, patting the caster on the leg. “I hear Mayor Pam needs help at the Neberith Temple. When you get there, tell her the Remlopes are on a rooftop again.”

“Sure,” Nyx says, unable to hide the dejection in her eyes.

Hanging her head, the half-elf weaves through the healers and sick animals. New patients are being brought in by the hour and many of the towers have been turned into makeshift hospitals for the smaller beasts. Even the stables are being used to house the pegasi and griffins that arrived around noon. Nyx feels useless as she sees the halflings and Delvin running around with supplies. The Dark Wind has become so strong and potent that her magic can no longer purge it from the air, which eliminates the only thing she thought she could do. The caster is slightly relieved to be entering the central tower where none of the hard-working healers can see her failures. Still she finds that she cannot even help with preparing medicines or running supplies due to the other workers being a lot faster than her.

“They sent you back again?” Pam asks when Nyx walks up to the desk. The halfling shakes her head and hands the caster a stack of papers. “Make yourself busy with these request forms. Sort them by location first and then by medicine name. That should make things easier for the other bureaucrats.”

“I’m sorry I’m not more help,” the young woman apologizes, taking a seat and putting the papers in her lap. “Not like Delvin.”

“Nobody is like your friend,” the mayor admits with a laugh. She sits on top of the desk, her legs crossed and her quill racing across the forms in her hands. “He claims to have no medical training, but he’s been a big help. Such a soothing presence and he’s happy to learn from the priests. You might be leaving Fyric alongside a decent healer by the end of this.”