The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) (33 page)

Avulash and his men joined hands around the cauldron like children playing a game. Lethos considered the misfortune of having his head propped for a perfect view of the Tsal at their strange work. Looking away was not even an option. He tried to close his eyes and found that they would not shut. Doubtlessly, Avulash had wanted him to see this feat, whatever it entailed.

The storm riders began to chant together. The words were strange hissing noises, like the words of snake. They all began to sway, further enhancing the impression of an ophidian trance. The contents of the cauldron began to bubble, and Lethos thought he saw a dark red fluid rise to the brim. Was it blood? He thought of the gray skinned children tossed into a pile like discarded rags. Was it theirs?

The fear of that probability burned the only heat into the intense cold he experienced. His stomach churned at the thought of the children's blood fueling whatever dark magic Avulash worked.

A black smoke began to form over the cauldron. If Lethos could squint, he might see it more clearly. Instead, paralyzed as he was, he had to stare at the vague shape coalescing into view. The blood within gave off a red mist and floated up into the shape, which was nothing more than a splotch of black smoke that seemed to cling together rather than disperse. The steady chant of Avulash and his companions seemed to strengthen the flow of blood mist into the smoke. It rolled and stretched, growing darker as it did, until snakelike arms began to slither out from it.

The shape became more solid yet remained translucent. It made no sound at all, but somehow Lethos heard voices in his head. At first he thought Grimwold had reached out to him, but it was not the same. These were confused, anguished voices of both men and women. At first the voices were confused and senseless, but as he watched the mass of dark smoke grow and rise into the air, they became more coherent.

These were the cries of the naked prisoners. Though they stared listlessly ahead, never moving nor betraying any sense of awareness, their voices now rang in Lethos's head. The ball of shadow with its dozens of tentacles gently waving as if in a spring breeze had revealed their voices. They were crying out for mercy, for an end to the torment of standing in fear for so long. They cried for their children. They begged to be set free. Some merely screamed in horror. Yet their bodies never wavered.

The blood had all evaporated from the cauldron, and Avulash and his companions at last ceased their murmured chanting. They released their hands and stepped back, admiring their work.

Deep in the translucent black mass, a yellow orb appeared like an eye opening for the first time. In fact, it was an eyeball that now searched and scanned its surroundings. Its tentacles began to whip like the tail of an agitated cat, swishing back and forth over the heads of the prisoners. The voices screamed in unison, and Lethos wished he could block them out. He was stuck staring at Avulash, who seemed to stumble as he moved from the cauldron. One of his companions, the man with the ragged, stained cloak, held him up. Yet he was brushed aside like an unwanted servant, and Avulash straightened himself.

He extended both palms over the group of naked prisoners. His companions glanced at each other then joined him. They all had their backs to Lethos, but they seemed to gird themselves for their next task.

Blood tore from the bodies of the prisoners closest to the storm riders. While none made a sound in the physical world, their shrieks of terror filled Lethos's mind. He could smell the copper tang of it as it spouted through the air into the extended palms of the storm riders. What horrible magic allowed such bizarre cruelty? Lethos knew the legends of vampires from an earlier age of man, but in those stories they drank the blood from an open wound. Here it seemed torn from the victim's very pores.

The bodies flopped one by one as blood vanished into the palms of the storm riders. The screams grew delirious, though the captives remained docile. As the bodies fell, the smoky mass whipped out a tentacle and drew a corpse into its core where it seemed to float and spin. At first Lethos was not certain if the bodies were shrinking, but soon it was clear they were. Once each body had reached the size of a young child, it vanished from sight. No sound or other effect followed. The body was no more.

This horrible scene continued until Avulash lowered his arms. He and his fellows turned from the remaining prisoners then raised their hands over the cauldron. Blood gushed from their palms and splashed into the iron vessel. Again Lethos wished he could move his head, and he added a mental scream of his own to the wailing of the captives. The regurgitated blood filled the cauldron. They then turned and repeated the process until nearly two dozen of the captives had been drained and then fed to the strange eye of mist.

At last Avulash fell. This seemed to shock his companions, who fluttered around him like schoolchildren who had lost their teacher. Lethos would have laughed and jumped for glee had he been able. Yet he simply stared ahead as if he were not even conscious. He at least still blinked and swallowed, and he wondered if there was a way to exploit that freedom. He doubted drooling on himself would be of much use, and blinking rapidly was not exactly intimidating. He was at the mercy of the wild stone nailed into his shoulder and the crippling cold emanating from it.

Avulash staggered to his feet, and this time he did not brush away the aid. His companions were comically flitting about offering to wipe his brow or pressing full wine skins at him. He hung limp with the aid of his ragged-cloaked companion, who eventually growled something at the others that made them recoil. After several long moments where Avulash conferred with the others in a voice too low to hear, and cast dark glances at Lethos, he at last stood on his own feet.

At last Avulash stalked over to him, the others following behind. They shared worried looks between themselves, but Avulash and his lieutenant both grinned viciously. He stood over Lethos, his face drawn and paler than normal.

"So you have seen the beginnings of what will soon be the fate of all the wretched beasts that have stolen these lands from us. Were I not so taxed with all the splendor I have created in these few days, I would have harvested more. The loss is nothing, though, as I will have both your blood and the blood of your foolish companion to compensate. What I can do with both will astound and please my king, who will soon be here to reclaim what was taken from us."

Lethos blinked rapidly. It was better than drooling on himself. He wished he could summon the bull spirit back into power then tear off Avulash's head. But whatever had been done to him had silenced everything inside and out, and the bull remained hidden.

"I will repay you for the pain you offered me." Avulash extended his arm to show where Lethos had stabbed with that bizarre drill found aboard the white ark. "You see, your kind are not the only ones capable of rapid healing. Our magic makes all things possible."

He extended his hand, palm out. Blood still seeped from it like water from a pipe that had recently been used. Lethos noticed the whole arm trembled as the blood sucked back into the flesh. Avulash gritted his teeth as if pushing a heavy weight, and finally lowered his arm with a curse. His followers began to console him, the lieutenant placing a hand on his shoulder. Avulash shoved them all back. "Enough! I promised to drain his blood with tubes and pipes, did I not? He will scream just as much."

Avulash rubbed the palm he had tried to use. Again, Lethos wanted to scoff at the display of failed magic. Apparently these storm riders could exhaust themselves of it, and Avulash clearly had. If there was ever a time to hit him, now was it. But Lethos remained motionless.

"We cannot take the rest of these slaves, but we can harvest their flesh later. We will need as much of it as we can gather." Avulash waved absently at the air, roughly indicating the remaining captives. "Put the killing mist upon them. I am too tired to call it myself. As for this one, I will handle him."

Lethos wished he could tell Avulash that his evil smile was not frightening when he was clearly trembling like an old man without his cane. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than slapping away Avulash's smirk, but again he resorted to eye-blinking.

He could not see what transpired as Avulash and his lieutenant blocked his vision. The whimpers and cries he heard in his head suddenly went silent. The absence of any sound cowed Lethos, and whatever flippant mood had gripped him turned as cold as the numbing chill gripping him. Avulash knelt down to his eye level, and took his chin in a strong grip to adjust his line of sight. His teeth gleamed in black gums as he smiled.

"I'll let you call your friend. Sharatar has a stone arrowhead prepared for him that will not miss. I believe you know what that will do to him? Unlike last time, this will not be shot by some raider barely worthy of being considered a human. My seeker will do it himself."

Avulash extended a finger, and without any outward wound being made, a bead of blood appeared on the tip. It jiggled and danced as he stretched forward and began to dab shapes on Lethos's forehead. Where the fingers stroked, the cold subsided. In a few rough daubs he completed and stood up with a smile. Then he turned to the one called Sharatar, and he began to daub patterns over his face and down his body. Lethos could not move his head to see clearly, but it seemed he was written over from head to toe when Avulash stepped back and pressed both hands together. He muttered several sounds that Lethos did not recognize, and then Sharatar disappeared.

"Call your friend, and do try to warn him of my plans. By all means, warn him." Avulash smiled and stepped away. Sharatar also followed, and Lethos realized he could still see his outline as if he had become perfectly clear ice.

As they moved aside, Lethos saw the scores of naked dead bodies lying facedown in the brown grass. They looked like old trees that had all been blown down in the same direction. Lethos knew they were dead, and the other storm riders who stood around them had done it with no effort at all. If these things were not stopped, what chance did Valahur or the world stand against more of them arriving? What would their king be able to do? If he could move he would have shuddered, but instead he watched Avulash and the others raise hands to the sky.

The clouds grew dark and the air smelled of blood again. Wind began to rake across the ground, sending dried leaves and dead grass spiraling into the air. The strange eye of mist was unaffected by the winds, but Avulash and his men reached up as if drawing down clouds into their hands. Thin twisting storm clouds answered their summons, touching each one and sucking them into the sky. Avulash gave him a faint smile before he jumped into his cloud and disappeared.

The wind died immediately, and the debris kicked into the air settled back down on the dead bodies and Lethos's prone form. The strange eye still hovered in place, though the cauldron was now gone as well. The yellow eye stared at Lethos, and one of it lazy tentacles drifted toward him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The smoky tentacle passed in front of his eyes, and as it did he thought he heard echoes of a distant roar. He still rested against the wall, leaning to the side like a discarded sack of grain. Through the black mist he could see the piles of dead bodies stacked on top of each other as if they had all been blown down in the same direction. Strain as he might, he could not raise a finger. The wild stone piercing his shoulder kept him pinned.

He recalled that during the war of the trolls both Turo and Kafara had been pierced with wild stone shards that had rendered them as good as dead. Perhaps this was a natural effect of the stone or else part of the magic Avulash had worked on him. He did not know which.

The tentacle floated away as if Lethos were not interesting enough to touch, and dozens of others grew from the black shape and began exploring the corpses. The yellow eyeball was like a faint globe within as it now focused on the bodies. The tentacles swept lazily over them as if exploring.

Avulash had told him to call Grimwold. Of course, this meant he could not. He had to warn him to stay away or else the one called Sharatar would kill him. Lethos had lost sight of the storm rider after the chaos of Avulash's departure. He could be anywhere, waiting invisibly for Grimwold to show up and then snipe him with an arrow that was certain to kill him this time. There would be no second chance now.

He tried the door in his mind, the one that led to Grimwold's room. It wasn't actually like that, but Grimwold had visualized it as such, and Lethos found it useful. In fact, it was just knowing that Grimwold was either with him or not and if he chose to speak then Grimwold would hear it. Like cracking a door to glimpse into a forbidden room, Lethos reached out to Grimwold.

The way was open. A flutter of confusion and worry found him. Grimwold already knew he was in danger and was coming for him. He could find him. Of course he could. If Lethos's powers had not been debilitated, he would know Grimwold's location as precisely as he knew where he put his own hands. They were a bonded pair, two parts of one power. He was the source of the energy, and Grimwold gave it shape and form in the world. One without the other was nothing.

Grimwold, don't come for me, it's--

His thought cut off. A piercing, shrill ringing filled his ears so powerfully his head felt full of cotton. Pain lanced through the center of his head, and if he could have screamed he would have done so with all his strength. He sat still, but internally his body rocked with agony and the ringing threatened to deafen him. He didn't know when it had abated. The scene before him had changed in the details. The black mist creature's tentacles were in different places. Leaves were airborne in a wind when none had been just a moment ago. Perhaps he had blacked out.

I should've expected that, he thought. But Avulash wanted me to contact Grimwold so he would find me faster. So, how smart is this magic anyway? Can I warn him without triggering it?