Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) (7 page)

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

Nyx transforms into mist as Luke is taken towards the top of Rainbow Tower, his body moving like a limp doll in a hurricane. As the relic arches over the roof to dive at the ground, the forest tracker slams his feet against the back of a turret. He pulls back with all of his strength, his arm feeling like it is about to be ripped from his shoulder. Luke nearly slips before a pair of slender arms wraps around his waist and lock him in place.

“I got you, lover,” Sari whispers, her power of immovability preventing both of them from moving. She worries when Luke begins slowly bending in half, the half-elf grunting and whimpering. “I have him pinned, but he’s still getting pulled! A little help, Nyxie! Move quickly before this gets messy! Oh, please don’t let this get messy.”

“Relax and focus on the Compass Key,” Nyx says as she solidifies on the rooftop. She ducks under a streaking comet and ignores the frown from Sari. “I can’t do anything. It’s attuned to Luke and my aura could hurt him with a backlash. He has to use his own power.”

“I’m focusing and it isn’t working,” the forest tracker growls, wriggling to get out of the gypsy’s unbreakable grip. “Let me go and shout orders at me. I can handle flying around better than my arm getting torn off.”

Nyx is flung to the ground when the trapdoor beneath her feet is thrown open. Delvin scrambles out of the opening, the warrior panting and barely clothed. He pauses when he sees the enraged expression on Nyx’s face, the caster rubbing her aching side. Holding up his hands, he backs up until he is standing next to Luke and Sari. The warrior notices the gypsy smiling at his bare chest and simple underwear, the expression one of approval instead of attraction. He pushes the observation out of his mind while he focuses on Luke who is trying to pry Sari’s arms off his waist.

“Each gem around the edge must signify a champion,” Delvin quickly explains, reaching over to grab the half-elf’s wrist. He helps pull the relic back in the hopes of relieving the pressure on his friend’s arm. “Given its core connection to the champions, the Compass Key had to have been made during the times when elements were used as a basis for powers. For example, Nyx is fire and is symbolized by the ruby. It’s obvious that the thing is reacting to Luke, but he might have to focus on his gem in order to control it. If he’s trying to work the entire relic then it’s lashing out in confusion.”

“Focusing on all six is what’s causing the problem,” Nyx whispers, getting to her feet and wiping snow from her pants. “If we’re going by elements then Luke is air, which means either the sapphire or the diamond.”

“He’s also a forest tracker, so he could be the emerald,” Sari chimes in, adjusting her grip when she hears his pants start to rip. As soon as she eases her hold, the Compass Key yanks Luke away, carrying him and Delvin off the rooftop. “I don’t think they’re going to last much longer.”

“Pick a gem and focus, Luke,” Delvin suggests, slipping and catching the half-elf by the ankles. “You’re not the obsidian or the ruby. Sari is probably the sapphire. I don’t know enough about gemology to think of a solid answer. Go for the emerald!”

“Are you sure?”

“No, but what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Death.”

“Fine. I owe you a meal if it gets us killed. Just do something!”

Luke focuses on the green sphere and feels his body tingle. The jerky movements of the Compass Key stop and it gently lowers the champions to where Timoran is waiting. Delvin breathes a sigh of relief when he touches the solid earth, falling to his knees and rolling onto his back. Luke hovers a few inches off the ground, the Compass Key glowing in his hands and the gems steadily rotating around the central pearl. Emitting a dull hum, a flash of light bursts from the relic and shows an image of a forked mountain. His hands numb and bleeding, Luke drops the amulet and the illusion flickers away.

“How did you know it was the emerald?” Nyx asks, holding onto Sari as they drift to the ground. “Picking the wrong one could have gotten you killed.”

“You’re going to hate me for the answer,” Delvin replies, standing and rubbing his sore arms. He shrugs when the young woman glares at him, her expression urging him to reveal his secret. “The emerald matches Luke’s eyes.”

“That’s so sweet,” Sari coos, giving the forest tracker a kiss on the lips. “I’m going to like traveling with him, Nyxie. Make sure he stays. You can even make it clothing optional.”

“So where are we going?” the caster asks, blushing slightly.

Luke hands the Compass Key back to Timoran, who begrudgingly takes it. The half-elf cracks his sore neck and flexes his arms while recalling the image. Everyone is waiting for him to speak as the snowstorm grows a little stronger. Luke shivers when some of the snow falls down the back of his jacket, forcing him to pull his hood over his head.

“I saw a forked mountain, which looked vaguely familiar,” the forest tracker slowly answers, letting his bard’s memory draw the information from his mind. “I saw it once on a map of my grandfather’s and it was to the northeast of Gaia and the northwest of Vorgabog. I think it used to be part of the Guldrack Mountains before the Battle of Giants isolated it from the rest of the range. We can travel along the river for two weeks or so before going north. Trying really hard to remember the name, but the cold is making my brain sluggish.”

“It’s the Widowhorn,” Delvin states, blowing on his chilled hands. He rubs them around his chest, hoping to stave off the cold that is blossoming in his body. “It isn’t a difficult climb, but the camouflaged vipers and horned spiders make it deadly. I know a path that will get us there in a week and a half barring any severe delays.”

“How big are these horned spiders?” Luke nervously asks.

“Big enough for Timoran to ride comfortably,” the brown-haired warrior answers. He notices the half-elf make an exaggerated gulp and quickly thinks of a way to ease his friend’s nerves. “They’re found between the peaks, so we shouldn’t have a problem. Even if we have to go into that area, they’re rather docile in the winter.”

“Let’s get moving!” Nyx shouts, walking behind Luke and pushing him toward the tower. She mutters a word in ancient Dwarven, which opens a doorway in the shimmering stone. “If we run into the scary spiders, big sister will incinerate them. Now go take a bath and get ready to leave, fearless hero.”

Delvin watches the others leave and strokes his chin. “I think I need to talk to Fizzle about a secret mission.”

*****

General Vile trudges through the knee high snow, grumbling about the cold seeping into his thick boots. His mood improves slightly when he comes across a smoking fire pit and green tent sitting beneath the naked oaks. The simple camp looks abandoned, but he can hear the sound of voices coming from the narrow enclosure. Pushing the flap open and stepping inside, the halfling wipes his feet on the thick mat at the entrance. The interior is the size of a small wooden cabin with smokeless lanterns dangling from the ceiling and comfortable furniture that has been lovingly maintained. Removing his boots, General Vile walks down the short hallway and listens for Stephen and Trinity. The sound of shifting bodies carries him through an open kitchen and to a locked door, a lightning spell crackling around the doorknob.

“I will be right out,” Stephen says before Vile can knock. “Grab a drink and have a seat.”

A pot of hot water is whistling on the stove, so the armored halfling pours himself a mug and adds a pinch of aromatic herbs. The tea warms his body and he flexes his furry toes while taking a seat on a barstool. He patiently waits for Stephen to open the bedroom door, the black-haired man wearing only a pair of loose breeches. Vile can see Trinity sprawled on the bed with a red sheet over her, the chaos elf breathing softly. She rolls over and waves her hand to slam the door with enough force to shake the tent.

“She might not be joining us,” Stephen casually says, wiping away the scratch marks on his chest. “I may have been a tad rough with her majesty. No permanent damage, but she’ll need to sleep it off.”

“Perhaps we should wait for her,” Vile suggests, removing his eye-patch to reveal the gaping hole. He pulls a moist rag from his pocket and cleans the edge of the socket, taking some joy in the disgusted look on his ally’s face. “I’m not comfortable with what you do, so consider this me returning the favor.”

“Fair enough, little General,” the other man says with a sneer. He sits in a large, cushioned chair and a steaming mug of tea appears in his hand. “Trinity would have nothing to add if she joined us because I only plan on explaining the situation and giving you orders. There’s no discussion here. Your role in our trap is rather simple, but it might be beyond your skills. Think of it as a challenge.”

“There’s no need to taunt me. I’ve already agreed to help,” the halfling replies, reaching for a cookie off a nearby platter. “Your father talked to me and I assured him I would do my best.”

“Good old father rallying the troops. One has to wonder why the gods deem him evil when he shows such compassion to his minions. I shall never understand his kindness.”

The bedroom door creaks open and Trinity walks out, a brush fixing her hair as she adjusts her green robe. The crimson sash tightens around her waist, making sure the garment remains closed. She goes to the kitchen for a tankard of ale, finishing the drink in one long chug. Glaring at the staring men, the chaos elf gets a refill from an ice-covered keg on the marble counter. She grabs a handful of grapes and takes a seat on a rug made from thick snow tiger fur, curling her legs beneath her.

“You seem to have recovered quickly,” Vile mentions, shivering at the palpable aggression the chaos elf is aiming at Stephen. “Are you sure you don’t need time to rest?”

“I’ll handle the pain,” she growls, popping a grape into her mouth.

“Always a fighter,” Stephen teases, flashing Trinity a smile.

He is knocked off his chair by a lightning bolt to the temple, curls of smoke rising from his burnt flesh. With a bored sigh, the black-haired man hops to his feet and shakes his head until the damage disappears. A cruel sneer crosses his face, which causes Trinity to tense up and move to the edge of the rug. Her enhancer gems glow in anticipation of his retaliation, but he simply retrieves his fallen cup and goes back to his seat to continue the conversation.

“As I was about to tell you, dear General, I don’t need your military knowledge and combat prowess for this mission. I want you to shadow the champions and let us know if our plan is working. Trinity has used her contacts to learn that our target is leaving Gaia as we speak. I will personally move you into position when you have rested and packed some supplies. I suggest you travel light.”

“I have enough supplies to last me and the skills to forage and hunt,” Vile declares, curiously eyeing his allies. He pockets a handful of cookies, ignoring the stifled laughter from Trinity. “You mentioned only a single target. Is there a specific champion you want me to watch?”

“We’re focusing on Luke Callindor,” the chaos elf answers before finishing her ale. She smacks her lips and gets up for another drink, rubbing a growing bruise on her back. “The Dark Wind has been created specifically for him, but we’ve never tested it. That’s why we need someone watching him and letting us know if the curse is taking affect. Your reports will tell us if we need to utilize one of our backup plans.”

“I personally think we should hit him with a full dose to be safe,” Stephen admits, juggling a vial of black mist on his knuckles. “Though I doubt Nyx would be willing to behave if he dies too quickly.”

“This is for the woman?” the halfling asks in surprise.

The grinning man flicks the vial into the air and watches it vanish in a blink of light. “Nyx is more than a mere woman. She is the light to dear Trinity’s darkness. With both of them under my tender grasp, I can conquer Windemere in months. All I need is leverage to control her, which is why I want Luke Callindor infected and weak. I’ll promise his recovery if she pledges her obedience and bonds her aura to me. It’s more extreme than what I’ve done with Trinity, but I have a feeling I need more of a leash on this one.”

“I still say you’re tempting your own destruction,” the chaos elf mutters over the lip of her mug. “Best to kill the forest tracker now and force Nyx to attack recklessly. We can destroy her if she’s not thinking clearly. Your father would prefer that.”

“Even more of a reason to do the opposite.”

“Aren’t you too old to be the rebellious teenager?”

“Yes, but I’m talking about the big picture wherein I take my father’s throne.”

Trinity laughs and throws her finished mug into the sink, the basin filling with soapy water as soon as the cup hits the bottom. “Except you need the champions to face your father in order for him to regain that throne. That is unless you want to oversee a rotted continent and the realm of demons, which even the Baron has admitted to being too chaotic to truly rule. Grinding chaos elves under your foot is one thing, but demons need to be appeased and ruled with power and presence. You have the power, Stephen, but you carry the presence of a pompous egomaniac. I suggest you stick to your games while leaving the real work to your father. Am I right, General Vile?”

Putting his eye-patch back on, the halfling leaves the barstool and goes to get his boots from the entrance. He frowns as he touches the wet leather, dropping them back on the ground and wiping his hands on his dull red chainmail shirt. He ignores the calls for his return and wanders the other rooms, his mind lost in thought. Vile stops in the small pantry and takes a flask of Calican gin, shuddering when he tastes the strong brew. He sighs when he feels dry boots appear on his feet and a shadow looms over him.

“Are you unable to follow my orders?” Stephen kindly asks, a sinister glint in his sapphire eyes. “I hope you didn’t lie to my father. You know how he hates dishonesty.”

“I might not be as skilled as my son when it comes to stealth, but I can do the job. I was simply waiting for my boots to dry.”

“Well they’re dry,” the black-haired man states. With an iron grip, he grabs Vile’s hand and presses a jade pin into his flesh. “Talk into this and I will hear you. The pain will pass in a few seconds.”