Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) (4 page)

“Give apples?” the tiny dragon suggests, burrowing further into the hood. “Too cold. Fizzle need find warmth stones. Taste bad, but help Fizzle.”

“Thanks for trying to help. You can leave and get warm. I’ll follow after I think some more.”

Fizzle zips into the air and turns invisible as he soars toward Rainbow Tower. Delvin keeps staring in the direction of the multi-colored building, imagining that he can see Nyx standing on the roof. He knows the half-elf sneaks up there to get away from everyone and revel in the illusionary sky. The warrior considers inviting her to a picnic on the roof, but fears that turning her special spot into a place of romance would be a mistake. The thought of being tossed off the tower sends a shudder through his body even though he knows she would never kill him. At worst, she would turn him into a living yo-yo until he begged for forgiveness or passed out from fright.

“Messes like this wouldn’t happen if you guys had a love deity!” he shouts at the sky. He cringes when a series of rumbles rolls in from every direction. “I meant that with as much respect as mortally possible. Though could somebody lend me a hand here? Preferably someone that wants me to succeed.”

“You realize the gods are forbidden from getting involved in human affairs, especially those that revolve around love,” a deep voice whispers from next to the warrior. Cyril materializes, but the snow falls through the dark-skinned man, betraying his illusionary nature. “I have been watching your courtship of my daughter. It is entertaining, but I feel I should step in before Nyx sends you through a wall again.”

“I have the best of intentions for your daughter,” Delvin states, taking a seat on the edge of the arena. “I already have Kevin Masterson’s blessing and Tzefira . . . I’m not really sure with her. She only told me that I’ll die a horrible, public death if I hurt Nyx. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me taking advantage of your daughter. I find myself attracted to her not just physically, but emotionally.”

The looming caster leans on his black wood staff, his eyes void of emotion. “I am well aware of your interest and noble gestures. I find it admirable that a young man is open with his feelings and intentions. Honesty is a rare trait, especially in the mercenary lifestyle. Even so, I believe you are pushing too hard.”

The warrior is about to answer when a roaring screech catches his attention. He glances up to see a solitary griffin awkwardly waving at him, the elegant beast burdened with lumber and thick ropes. The flying creature slowly makes its way to the docks where most of the work crews are stationed today. Turning back to Cyril, Delvin notices that the caster is thoughtfully stroking his chin and watching the amber-furred griffin.

“You should be more like him, Mr. Cunningham.”

“Luke is with two women and dreading the day he has to choose,” Delvin responds. He turns his hood inside out to remove the snow before pulling it over his head. “I don’t envy what he’s going through.”

“True, he is worried about what is to come, but look at how he acts. Luke Callindor is himself at every turn and that is what attracts people to him,” Cyril calmly explains, thumping his staff on the ground. A tremor rolls through the arena, breaking the dangerous ice that is gathering on the stairs. “You are the same when you are with the others, but it seems you are unwilling to let nature take its course with Nyx. For example, you have friendly conversations with everyone over a shared breakfast. The day you tried to bring Nyx a meal in bed, you were knocked through the door and sent down ten flights of stairs on an ice slide.”

“I really have to give her credit on that rejection,” the young warrior says, wincing at the painful memory. “I understand what you’re saying. These feelings are rather new and I get excited whenever I think Nyx shares them. I’m not myself around her, which makes me uncomfortable and I act like an idiot. If we’re to depend on each other in battle then I need to get myself under control. No more flirting.”

A warm gust of wind from the ocean washes over Gaia, briefly turning the falling snow into rain. Waves roil in the distance and Delvin believes he sees a large creature breach the water and vanish behind the horizon. People gather on the rooftops and docks to watch the display of dancing tides that threatens the docks, but never does anything more than lap harmlessly at the piers and moored ships. Within minutes, the display is over and a huge tail fin rises from the water to wave at the city. As the ocean becomes still, a griffin soars away from the docks and fades into the strengthening snowstorm.

“It would appear Sari will return soon,” Cyril mentions, adjusting his grip on his staff. Half of his body distorts and twists, which he refuses to fix. “She is enjoying the last taste of her unhindered power before giving it up. Have you finished creating your strategies, Mr. Cunningham?”

“I have some plans in mind, but I find it’s better to keep them to myself. They’re basic and I can adjust them to various situations. The important part of leadership is to know everyone’s strengths and weaknesses. We’re not an army or a mercenary band, so I’m not really the leader here. The others may very well have great ideas without my input. I guess I’m saying that we’ll see how things go.”

Cyril nods and opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. The illusion sputters and explodes into a shower of sparks, startling Delvin and making him stumble away. He scans the area as his hand falls to the hilt of the longsword hidden beneath his long jacket. When he is sure there is no danger, the warrior relaxes and goes back to watching the snow fall. He becomes aware of people shouting and looks down to see a crowd gathering in a nearby street. Everyone is pointing at Rainbow Tower where smoke is billowing from the top floor, occasional licks of fire erupting from the storm. Bells are ringing and soldiers are rushing toward the emergency as the citizens fear that another attack has begun.

“Not again, Nyx,” Delvin whispers with a chuckle. An explosion of white erupts from the top of Rainbow Tower, causing the panic in the streets to turn into laughter. “Ah, she looks so cute covered in anti-magic foam.”

*****

“I hate this damn foam!” Nyx roars as she scans the cluttered table for the Compass Key. She slams her hands on the wood, the impact echoing throughout the barely furnished room. “It keeps getting in my way. Damn it! It ruined my map of Windemere, so now I have to make another. That’s the fifth one this junk has destroyed this week. Why do my teachers insist on doing this to me? Yes, I know I could have destroyed the tower, but I’m knee high in this mess and the blast made me lose the Compass Key.”

A barrage of curses in multiple languages erupts from the slender half-elf’s mouth when some of the foam in her ebony hair sloughs down her neck and under her simple shirt. Her violet eyes burn with a fury, which would normally be joined by a fire spell running along her arms or within her short tresses. With her magic temporarily stoppered by the foam, she can only glare menacingly at the only other figure in the room.

“I would like to remind you that I am only here because Lady Willow asked that I watch over you,” Timoran Wrath says, the towering barbarian covered from head to toe in foam. The redheaded warrior stays in the rocking chair, refusing to move out of fear of another spell going off. “Perhaps it is best that we stop for today and get cleaned off. Personally, I am tired of getting covered in this sweet-smelling stuff.”

“You can get cleaned off, Timoran,” the caster says, falling to her hands and knees to search for the missing relic. Her fingers tingle at the touch of the anti-magic foam, the sensation making her curse some more. “I have a few more theories to test before I give up. Maybe we have to put aura into each gem in a certain order or pass it through the central pearl. There’s no information in the library, so I have to do this through trial and error. So far, it’s been nothing but error.”

“Let us make a deal,” the barbarian requests, rising from the creaky chair. He approaches Nyx and puts a large hand on her head, the foam from his palm dripping onto her face. “When you cause a mess of this magnitude, you stop for the day. I will continue protecting you during this time as long as you promise to make this event the sign to quit.”

“Sari will be returning any day now,” Nyx says, pushing his hand away. She wiggles her fingers to move the mess on the floor, immediately getting drenched from above by another deluge. “I can’t even get mad about it anymore. Look, Timoran, if you want to leave then go. We need to know where the next temple is by the time Sari shows up. She’s been practicing while I’ve been sitting on my hands.”

“This is not a competition.”

“I didn’t say it’s a competition.”

“So why are you rushing as if time is limited?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Please share and help me understand this obsession, fire sprite.”

“Stephen is ahead of us!” Nyx screams, her body quivering with fear and rage. Grinding her teeth, she bangs her thick bracelet against the table. “I won’t let that monster win. I’m not going to let him scare me! He’s dead when I see him again. The damn Compass Key will lead us to the next temple and I know he’ll be waiting.”

Timoran wipes the foam from his red hair and kneels down to take his small friend by the wrist. He moves her to a table and sits her on the edge, gently patting her knee. The blue-eyed barbarian draws his great axe, the tiger-striped head shimmering in the candlelight. Grabbing the top of the handle, he strikes the butt of his weapon against the stone floor in the hope of hearing the clink of metal on stone. He remains standing with his head cocked to the side and hits the ground again, his hand reaching up to scratch one of the scars on his chest. Timoran takes a deep breath and raises the axe above his head, preparing to hit the floor with as much force as he dares.

“Wait!” shouts Nyx from her seat. She slips off her boot and shakes it over her lap until the Compass Key falls out. The seven circular gems shine as the half-elf timidly holds it up to her face. “I guess the foam pushed it into my boot. No wonder I couldn’t find it. Maybe I should go back to walking around here barefoot.”

“You had an ancient relic in your shoe and did not notice?”

“The foam makes my skin tingle and the Compass Key slipped onto the top of my foot. I thought the sensation was being caused by getting drenched so badly,” she answers while blushing. She runs her finger around the alabaster pearl in the center of the relic, the taste of its power mesmerizing her for a few seconds. “Trinity and Stephen were after this, so it’s important to the Baron. They’re going to try to take it, so we need to figure out how it works. Once I master the Compass Key, I can hide it out of their reach and only return to its location when we need it. Even Stephen won’t be able to get this from me if he . . . captures me.”

Timoran sits next to Nyx, the table creaking under his weight. “I apologize if this angers you or hurts your pride, but I do not want you to face Stephen alone. Delvin told me about what happened and we agree that he is too dangerous for you to fight.”

“Luke already gave me the ‘over my dead body’ speech. I don’t want to be alone with that monster, but I refuse to cower like a terrified child. He’ll enjoy that and I’d rather kiss a hobgoblin than bring that bastard even a scrap of joy.”

“That man tossed me aside with very little effort. I am not in any rush to fight someone with such power. Not until I have a better understanding of his abilities.”

Nyx hops off the table and stretches her arms over her head, the caster quietly noticing that her skin has become very pale and dry after months of staying indoors. She winces at the sensation of a knot in her lower back and tries twisting in every direction until the stiffness is gone. The half-elf reaches under the table for a satchel and pulls out a thin book, its yellow cover cracked along the leathery spine. The title of the tome is faded to the point where the solitary word is unreadable without the aid of magic.

“I believe Stephen is a Chronos,” Nyx softly explains, handing her friend the book. The big warrior gingerly takes it in his hands, a worried look on his face. “They are rarer than Song Casters and a lot more dangerous. They aren’t true casters with spells, but they use their aura to alter time and reality. Most die within a few years because their power irreversibly ages them with every use, but if one is immortal then it’s possible that the side-effects are negated. That book explains the few things that are known about the Chronos, which isn’t much. All I got out of it is that none of us have the power to permanently put Stephen down.”

“Then we avoid him until we discover his weakness,” the barbarian states as he thumbs through the book. He catches his breath when one of the pages splits in half, his hands frozen in embarrassment. “Gabriel would not pit us against him if he did not have a way for us to win. We have already been told that Fizzle is immune, which may be the first step toward victory. Though I believe Stephen will play with us for a while, so we can use that time to find the key to destroying or sealing him.”

“We destroy him. If he’s sealed then he can escape and come after me again.”

“You make a good point,” Timoran says as he closes the book. He wrinkles his nose at the smell of dissolving foam and the thought that crosses his mind. “I do not like what I am about to say. Stephen is mostly focused on you, so he will get the Compass Key if you are captured. I should point out that you have rarely let the relic out of your sight since we found it. Maybe you should give it to someone less likely to earn his attention.”

With her mouth slightly open, Nyx stares at the barbarian and gently fingers her amethyst necklace. She pulls the Compass Key out of her pocket, the soft glow of its potent aura capturing her attention. Her thumb runs along the ruby and she feels a comforting warmth run along her arm. The half-elf frowns at the relic, her frustration at failing to unlock its secrets bubbling to the surface. Before she loses her temper and sets off another burst of foam, Nyx holds the Compass Key out to her friend, who leans away from the offer.

“You’re the only one, big brother,” she declares as she approaches the barbarian and holds the relic a few inches from his face. “I don’t think Stephen will give you a second thought. To him, you’re a large brute and not worth his time. Please take this and keep it safe.”