Lorelle of the dark, p.24
Lorelle of the Dark, page 24
“Unless that,” Khyven said. “Then we get the Plunnos and then get her home.”
Slayter looked like he had fully recovered from the gut-churning nausea and he looked at Vohn, who clearly had not. He was still holding his belly and squeezing his eyes shut like he wished he was anywhere but here. The mage looked down at his waist, flicked open the little cylinder where he kept all his clay disks, and quickly clicked through them with his slender fingers. He selected one, pulled it out, and used the metal scratcher to finish the line.
Orange light flared and he tossed the coin to Vohn. “Put it against your belly,” he said.
Vohn looked at him suspiciously.
“Quickly,” Slayter said. “While it’s glowing.”
Vohn scooped up the coin and put it against the front of his tunic.
Slayter rolled his eyes. “Underneath.”
Vohn snarled but did as he was asked. His eyes flew open, he straightened, and he drew an easy breath. He glanced at Slayter in surprise.
Slayter winked. “Now snap it or I’m going to have your roiling belly in my mind for hours.”
Vohn snapped the clay coin in two. The orange light flared, then vanished. Both he and Slayter sighed.
“Better?” Slayter asked.
“Annoying as you are, you are useful,” Vohn said.
“You’re welcome,” Slayter said.
Khyven scanned the tree line again. Rauvelos had been true to his word. Once the giant raven had committed to helping them, he hadn’t held anything back. He’d given them a map of the area and teleported them directly here.
Granted, the teleport had made them all vomit their guts out, but the city of Nox Arvak was right where Rauvelos had said it would be.
“If you manage to not die in the transition,” Rauvelos had said, “and if you manage to avoid getting eaten in the first couple of seconds of your arrival, then you’ll only have to fight off whatever creatures you run across. If those creatures are agents of Lord Tovos, you’ll die. If they’re not agents for Lord Tovos, you’ll just have to fight them. Which will probably kill you.”
Rauvelos hadn’t been encouraging, but he had extended the life of their Amulets of Noksonon. Which had turned their mission from flat-out impossible into only foolhardy.
“I’ve increased the potency of the amulets,” Rauvelos had told them. “This lot hasn’t been imbued with magic for almost two thousand years. Instead of one hour, you should be able to get two entire days out of them. After that, they’re going to need to be recharged again. Mage, I give you these.” He handed Slayter three items that looked like small, shallow glass bowls with just enough room for an amulet to click inside them. “These are fragile. Break them, and they won’t work. Place the amulets securely in the indentation and submerge them in water—you’ll have to find a stream every two days—for an hour. It will reinvigorate the amulets. You’ll have another two days without having to leave the noktum.”
“Thank you,” Khyven had said.
“There is a downside,” Rauvelos had continued. “These amulets belong to Lord Nhevalos. They have been restored to full strength, so… if you get within a dozen yards of Lord Tovos’s agents, they’re going to sense you, and they’ll come after you. This will limit your ability to sneak about where Lord Tovos’s agents might be. Pray your friend hasn’t gone there. As to the rest of the denizens, they won’t care one way or another. They’ll treat you like the Kyolars do here, pace you and look for an opening but they’ll be reluctant to burn themselves.”
Khyven came out of his reverie and found his friends ready to hike. He reflexively touched the amulet at his neck.
“Ready?”
Vohn nodded.
“Ready, Sir Knight,” Slayter said.
They began their hike. Slayter barely limped; Rauvelos had given him a salve that had worked wonders. The three kept a steady pace, and Khyven began to feel optimistic. They knew where Lorelle was. Now they just had to reach her.
A soft, almost inaudible whir behind Khyven brought him around.
“Well, that was nice while it lasted,” he said softly, slipping a dagger from his belt to join the ready sword. He peered into the long grass. Vohn and Slayter turned, saw his expression, and searched intently in the direction Khyven was looking.
A trio of shapes crept toward them.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Khyven
Thirty paces away, a giant cockroach emerged from the tall grass. Easily six feet long, its body scuttled low to the ground—just below the top of the grass—held aloft by short, angular legs. Two long feelers, the thickness of Khyven’s arm, extended several feet into the air. Each feeler was topped with a vaguely Human head. Each had pale skin, Human noses, Human lips, cheekbones, and straight, black hair, but that was where the resemblance ended. The jaw was long, with pointed, carnivorous teeth, and the eyes were the multi-faceted orbs of a fly.
The whirring came from its wings as they fluttered excitedly against its back. The clicking came from the jaws as they opened a quarter of an inch and snapped shut, over and over again.
Another cockroach emerged from the grass behind the first, and another to the left.
A thrill of fear rushed through Khyven and the blue wind leapt to life, swirling through the tall grass and around the cockroach monsters.
“Grina’s Breath…” Vohn said. “Is this for real?”
“They look real to me,” Khyven murmured, moving to stand between his friends and the monsters. The blue wind swirled through the grass, weaving between the blades without disturbing them.
“I have something for this. I have something for this,” Slayter murmured.
The mage fumbled with his coin cylinder, but the nearest cockroach hissed and charged. Khyven was astonished at how fast it moved.
The others followed right behind it.
He surged forward, closing the distance between himself and the first cockroach. A lance of blue shot out at him and he spun just as one of the heads snapped its needle teeth next to his neck.
A forest of blue funnels sprouted on the cockroach, mostly on the vulnerable neck stalks, but some in the cracks of its shell. Khyven went for the easiest.
His sword whistled briefly then sliced through both neck stalks at once. The heads thumped onto the ground, the necks writhing. The cockroach went crazy, flailing its legs as it ran awkwardly to the left, missing Slayter by half a dozen feet.
“Well, they’re not smart,” Khyven said as he spun to brace the second. The other two swarmed him.
“I’ve got this. I’ve got this,” Slayter said, his clay coins clicking.
“Get it faster!” Vohn barked.
Blue spears of wind launched at Khyven from left and right. He leapt into the air, avoiding two as one lanced right where he’d been standing. As he did, he slashed at the blue funnels all around him. The cockroaches were fast. They were deadly, but those necks were right out in the open.
He got two stalks before he landed, spun, ducked another attack, and sliced another head. One cockroach had lost both its heads, and it went crazy like the first, running off blind, its sharp legs scuttling like mad.
Slayter held a coin aloft, and it was already glowing orange. He snapped it, and an orange glow suddenly emanated from the teeth of the remaining cockroach’s head…
… and from the teeth of fifty heads in the darkness of the grass behind them.
“What? What did that do?” Vohn demanded.
“Uh,” Slayter said. “Wrong coin. But that is interesting. There are an awful lot of them, aren’t there—”
“Slayter!”
Khyven dove over the nearest cockroach, the one that still had one head. It caught his boot with its teeth and he went down, but the thing couldn’t hold on. Khyven rolled awkwardly to his feet, dodged, and lopped off the final head. The last cockroach from the original three ran off.
The rest charged.
Slayter frantically clicked through his coins.
“Slayter!”
“I think we’re going to need a plan of escape,” Khyven said, looking at the horde scuttling toward them across the field. They were still fifty feet away but closing fast. He braced himself.
“Oh!” Slayter glanced up. “And don’t let them bite you.”
“That’s the plan,” Khyven said.
“No, I mean their teeth are venomous. That’s what that last spell showed.”
Khyven glanced down at the three tiny holes in his boot where the teeth had almost got him. “All right. Good information. Thanks.”
The cockroaches approached fast, all intent on Khyven. Their heads had retracted right up against their carapaces, and Khyven doubted the thick shell was going to fall to his sword as easily as the thin necks.
The Mavric iron whined in his mind. It vibrated like it longed to be taken out of the sheath.
Khyven didn’t want to draw the thing if he didn’t need to, but taking on three cockroaches at once had just about been the end of him. He sheathed his steel sword, reached up and gripped the hilt of the Daelakos’s Blade.
The whine stretched out, almost like it was trying to form a word. If it was a word, Khyven didn’t understand it, but he didn’t need to. He felt its excitement. The sword wanted to kill. Khyven pulled it from its magic sheath.
The cockroaches charged. Blue spears shot toward Khyven. The Mavric iron sword grew warm in his hand, lighter than a feather.
“This!” Slayter exclaimed, pulling a coin.
Khyven dodged the first attack, spinning through the throng as toothy head after toothy head snapped at him, missing by inches. The Mavric iron sword slashed and cut, moving in response to the blue spears and funnels as though the sword itself could sense them. Heads flew. Black ichor splashed the ground. Cockroaches fled in crazy, zigzagging patterns as they lost their heads, but more replaced them, converging on Khyven.
Slayter yelled, his voice growing louder as he held the coin high. Fierce orange light blazed from it and from Slayter’s mouth.
A single bolt of orange lightning shot from the coin into the air over the horde of cockroaches, forming a crackling ball of light, then a hundred jagged spikes of orange light lanced down. Every one of the fifty-some creatures shuddered as the lightning speared them. Every head sprang up to full extension, mouths open in silent screams that seemed to mimic Slayter’s scream.
Khyven flinched as orange lightning struck all around him. Every single cockroach slumped forward in the grass, dead and smoking, heads dropping to the ground on limp stalks. Every carapace had a glowing hole the size of a fist.
A haze of smoke drifted above the field of corpses, and the smell was horrendous.
Khyven gagged and staggered back from the carnage, an arm over his nose and mouth. “Senji’s Teeth!” he murmured. The Mavric iron sword whined in his head, disappointed.
“See?” Slayter said brightly, clutching the broken clay coin, his grin wide. The grin faded, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Khyven
“Slayter!”
Khyven sheathed the Giant sword and ran to the collapsed mage. The stench of burning insect wafted over the field in a haze.
“That is unpleasant,” Vohn said, who was already at Slayter’s side.
Khyven stood guard, scanning the field, looking for more cockroaches. But if there were any that hadn’t been taken by Slayter’s orange lightning spell, they had fled.
Perhaps they were smarter than they seemed.
“Well, this is exactly the sort of thing we didn’t want to do,” Khyven said, putting his elbow over his face again. It smelled like rotten fish that had been charred on a bonfire. “Rauvelos said not to use strong magic at the spot where we arrive because it might attract attention.”
Vohn nodded, his brow furrowed as he lightly touched Slayter’s neck and cheek. “He’s unconscious, but breathing,” Vohn said.
“Anyone—or thing—who was looking is going to see Slayter’s magic show for miles.” Khyven paused.
“I think he just overexerted himself,” Vohn said. “Lorelle has an herb that—” The Shadowvar cut himself off and glanced at Khyven as though he was just realizing where he was. “Sorry. Habit.”
“We’re getting her back,” he said.
“You realize how crazy this is,” Vohn said, finally raising his head and looking at the field of charred cockroaches. “We’re taking on an entirely unknown noktum thousands of miles from home. We’ve barely just arrived and already we’ve done all the things we shouldn’t.”
“Let’s just get clear of this spot.” Khyven picked up the mage, who weighed practically nothing, and slung him across his shoulders. Vohn checked the ground to ensure that Slayter hadn’t dropped anything when he fainted. Satisfied, Vohn rose and nodded.
“Come on.” Khyven strode away from the stench. “Quickly.”
With the mage on his shoulders and the map Slayter had created firmly in mind, Khyven continued toward the distant trees. It took them the better part of an hour to reach them, but no other creatures attacked them in that time. Either any interested creatures had seen their magic and decided they were too dangerous to stalk, or they’d been ridiculously lucky and no other creatures had actually seen the fight.
Just as they reached the charcoal canopy of the wide, fat leaves, Slayter stirred.
“Mmmm,” he murmured.
Khyven stopped just inside the trees and quickly looked around to make sure they weren’t stepping from one horror into another. But the woods appeared to be quiet, and he felt safer off the wide-open field. He put Slayter down and propped him against a tree.
Slayter blinked. “It worked. We’re alive. That’s nice.”
“It just about killed you.” Vohn squatted next to the mage, a stern expression his face.
“Well, it’s a big spell. My biggest ever, actually,” Slayter said. He blinked each eye, one at a time, patted his pouches, then reached into his robe and withdrew a small steel vial. He uncorked it and downed the entire thing.
He sat bolt upright and jumped halfway to his feet. He stumbled, knees bent, and leaned against the tree.
Khyven leapt forward to catch him. “What was that?” he demanded.
Slayter shook his head, then grinned like he’d just slammed two shots of Triadan Whiskey. He coughed and a tendril of blue smoke wafted out of his nose. “Just something to… shock the soul back into action. If I’m going to be any good to you in this adventure, I’ll need my magic. This’ll get me through a day or two.”
“A day or two?” Vohn asked.
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
“Let’s face it,” Slayter said. “We’ve just plunged into the Great Noktum with three limited amulets, minimal weapons, and no idea what to expect. If I’m going to die, I’d rather die saving one of you.”
“After a day or two, you’re going to die?” Vohn asked.
“No.” Slayter shook his head. “No.” He waved a negligent hand. “I mean, probably not. If we make it back. If I have enough time to work on an antidote. If I’m still awake. Then I can reverse the effects.” He held up a finger like he’d had a brilliant idea. “And it’s even more likely if we bring Lorelle back. She could definitely do it.”
“You’re an idiot,” Vohn said. He looked at Khyven. “Are we all expecting to die, then?”
“No,” Khyven said. “We’re getting Lorelle back.” He peered into the woods. When they’d first entered, he’d liked that the forest was quiet. There were no giant cockroaches. No Kyolars slinking between the trees. No Sleeths diving at them. But Khyven was beginning to get suspicious. The woods were deadly silent, like the creatures that might make noise were holding their collective breath.
“I don’t like this,” Khyven said. Vohn and Slayter stopped arguing and also looked into the silent woods. They all stepped back to the tree line of the forest, back to the edge of the field.
Slayter reached down to touch his coin cylinder—
A black arrow shot from the shadows and pinned the bottom of his dagged sleeve to the tree next to him.
“Erp!” Slayter said.
The blue wind leapt to life and Khyven drew his steel sword… but no spears of light launched at him. Instead, he saw wafts of blue wind hovering in the trees ahead of him. Points of blue light were everywhere, directed toward him, but they didn’t launch at him. They stayed silent, glowing indications that death stood ready all around them… but wasn’t yet attacking.
The Mavric iron sword whined. Khyven didn’t draw it, but he had the sense that he should look behind himself.
He did.
A tall Nox stood there, between them and the field they’d left. He had black hair, midnight black skin, and he wore all black, just like the Nox who’d taken Lorelle.
“Drop your weapons and come with us,” the Nox said, “and we won’t kill you.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Lorelle
Lorelle soaked in the steaming bath for more than an hour. Twists of orange coiled along the bathhouse ceiling and she let her mind drift as she looked up at them. There was an order to the twists, but she couldn’t figure what it was. They looked like constellations linked together with strings of orange light, but there were no stars within the noktum. She couldn’t imagine why the Nox would paint stars upon their ceiling if they never saw them. There was still so much she didn’t know about Nox culture.
Letting out one last, satisfied breath, Lorelle rose from the bath. A young Nox girl sitting on an obsidian bench by the wall jumped up and ran forward with a towel. She wrapped it around Lorelle.
“Thank you,” Lorelle said. The Nox girl ran back to the bench and sat, presumably waiting for anything else Lorelle might need. She toweled herself off, still not used to the fact that her skin was midnight black and that her hair glowed purple except for the one lock of gold that had flared to life in the dragon’s lair.
Once Lorelle finished drying, the girl rose and came forward again. Lorelle looked for the clothes she’d worn to the dragon’s lair, but they were gone.
