A Stone's Throw (The Gryphonpike Chronicles Book 3) (4 page)

Rahiel had already flown free of the corridor and Drake was backing out, looking over his shoulder at the terrain. The passage opened into another chamber, this one less bright with glimmer moss and devoid of any mineral growth on its floor though sharp stalactites hung like jagged teeth from the high ceiling. It was about the span of three elves laying head to toe and dominated by a stone tree. The tree looked almost like a stalagmite, its surface the same banded dark yellows like old leather, but with ten thick whip-like branches drooping off the trunk almost like a stylized carving of a weeping willow. Two dark spots on the wall behind the tree looked like they might be further corridors branching off the chamber.

What caught my eye were the flashes of clean bone that cluttered the roots of the tree, much of the bones encrusted with glimmer moss but not all. Bird bones, a femur of a deer or something larger, and an empty rib cage with distinctly humanoid vertebrae attached.

Drake’s eyes met mine, and I swallowed a wave of nausea as I jerked my chin toward the tree.

The tree’s branches came to life. One struck at Rahiel, but Drake, reading the panicked look on my face, yelled a warning. The pixie-goblin dodged the whipping branch and it cracked into a stalactite, the crystalline growth sheering off and crashing down with a sound like an old brass bell.

“Whipmaw,” shouted Azyrin. “Skin like stone, cannot hurt it.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Drake ducked as his rapier blade screeched along a thick branch, barely scratching its yellowy surface.

“Rahiel, fireball the damned critters.” Makha’s voice was muffled by her armored hood, the maille sealing around her face until only her eyes glinted steel grey above the blue scales. She slashed at one creature that grew too bold and separated out from its pack. The others stayed in a thick clot, preventing us from fleeing the flailing whipmaw’s stony arms.

“Can’t,” gasped the pixie-goblin as she swerved out of the way of another bashing arm. “I will get you and Azy.”

“I protect us.” Azyrin lifted his fist and golden light spilled over his arm like a molten fountain. “Do it.”

Makha pivoted and caught the branch that snaked toward Azyrin’s head on her shield with a grunt. The force of the blow shoved her back into reach of the skittering clutch of winged creatures and teeth snapped at her back. They broke on her armor. The deep blue scales looked like glass, but were actually a material formed by alchemy and magics long since lost to mortal knowledge. No normal claws and teeth or even steel would crack the Saliidruin maille.

I sprang back from a sweeping branch and barely got Thorn in the way to block another as, since Drake had retreated into range of the golden light spilling off the shaman, the whipmaw turned its attention to me. My bow caught the branch with a force like being shield-bashed by Makha. It slammed me back into the wall, my armor digging into my skin. My arm felt as though I’d arm wrestled a giant, and I had trouble keeping hold of my bow.

“Rahiel,” yelled Azyrin.

“Trying,” she yelled back. I caught the green-and-purple blur of her dropping down between striking branches and then a red bead shot from her hands. Pinned against the wall to the side of the entrance, I was spared the full heat of the blast, but the stink of singed hair filled my nostrils and my eyes teared from the wave of heat.

The creatures burned with horrible shrieks that scratched at my ears in a pitch almost too high to hear.

“Go,” Azyrin said. “Cut way through.”

I ducked a smashing branch and went into the still smoking opening in a crouch, barely avoiding a collision with Drake. I drew my dagger with my right hand and slashed at the sides of the tunnel, scoring rock but also hitting the remaining creatures as they scrabbled up and tried to stop our retreat.

“Wait for me.” Rahiel entered the passage in a whirl of wings and silk skirts, brushing past my head.

I turned to make sure nothing followed us but the whipmaw looked to be fixed in place and its tendrils couldn’t reach into the passage. A black globe caught my eye, down along one of the thick roots anchoring the whipmaw in the cavern. The globe had a slick surface, almost reflecting the green light from the glimmer moss. My left arm still tingled with bruised pain but I drew Thorn and shot an arrow at the black globe. One of the branches tried to block my arrow, but the tip of the broadhead nicked the globe’s surface and inky fluid spewed from the wound. The whipmaw started thrashing even more wildly and chunks of stone rained down in the cavern, pinging like out of tune bells off the floor and walls.

“Killer,” Drake called to me.

The others were fighting off the remaining winged creatures from within the opening into the larger cavern. I joined in, sending arrows slicing through thin wings as we worked to bring the creatures down. Black blood spattered my face and I envied Makha her hood. One of the monsters tried to drop down onto me from above but I ducked back into the passageway at the last moment and shot an arrow into what I hoped was its head. Clear fluid spurted as my arrow cut through the grape-cluster-like growth on what I guessed was its nose. The air filled with the smell of ripe pears.

“Angler imps!” Rahiel said as though she had just remembered something important. “That is what these are.”

“Great,” Drake said, skewering one on his rapier and then kicking its twitching corpse off just in time to sever the head of another.

I drew my bow and searched for another target as Makha slammed down the imp that had tried to engulf her with its clawed wings. She impaled it on a broken stalagmite and smashed in its sharp-toothed face. No other imps presented themselves. I scanned the ceiling, looking for dark patches or movement, but it seemed still and clear.

“Anyone injured?” asked Azyrin.

No one was. I didn’t bother to bring up my aching arm. I could make a fist and still grip Thorn without too much pain, so no bones were broken. Bruises would heal. A few gulps of tepid water from my waterskin helped clear the conflicting tastes of burned hair, pears, and burning blood from my mouth. I touched a hand to my hair and found my braid coated with the imps inky blood. Not enough water in my skin to fix that, so I decided to ignore the creeping itch as it dried on my scalp.

“How do we kill that whipmaw?” Drake asked as he sloshed his own waterskin around.

“I do not know,” Azyrin said. “Books say to avoid old ones. Skin collects too much stone to harm. Poison is too dangerous.”

“Poison? What poison?” Makha poked one of the dead imps with her boot, squishing its nose cluster. More clear liquid gushed, renewing the pear smell.

“Whipmaws are little bit psychic. Have mind magic. Poison in their teeth delivers it. Is how this one controls imps to bring it bones to absorb.”

“I didn’t see any teeth,” Drake said.

“In tentacles. Opens them when ready to strike. This one angry because we hurt imps. Did not strike like it should.”

Thinking about the black bulb I’d damaged, I wondered if it were a poison sack of some kind. The whipmaw had certainly reacted to the wound as though I had hurt it more than superficially. I sucked my lips against my teeth. No way to ask Azyrin, to confirm that it could be damaged. I would have to get their attention and show them. I took a deep breath and flexed my left hand before picking up Thorn.

“We’ll have to figure out how to kill it.” Drake shrugged.

“No, we won’t,” Makha said. “It’s too dangerous, mushbrain, and for what? We tried to chase the story, but this is a bit much, eh?”

“I agree,” Rahiel chimed in. “The idiot human probably died when the sinkhole caved in the dueling site and the sword is decades gone or moldering and buried somewhere deep down here, rotted and rusted away to nothing. Use your tiny brain, man-child.”

Drake punched a stalagmite and then winced. “It’s here. I know it is.”

“How?” Rahiel dropped down behind Makha.

“I had a vision, okay? When I held the sheath. The sword is here. I’ve seen it. We have to go past the whipmaw, I saw it as a stone tree in my vision. Then through a room with bacon and…” He stopped and dropped his chin as he realized how that last bit sounded.

“You sure whipmaw did not puncture your skin?” Azyrin eyed Drake.

“I’m sure. Bloody damn it all. We went after Rahiel’s stupid pearl. Come on, you guys have to trust me.”

“My pearl? That was the result of years of research, years of sifting legend and rumor for facts. Not some fat human barmaid’s trumped up family history coupled with a drunken hallucination.” Rahiel tucked her tiny fists on her hips as blue sparks crackled in the air around her wings.

“You withheld the bacon vision and the warakin pack. What else aren’t you telling us?” Makha leaned on her shield, her voice and expression gentle but firm.

“Nothing. Damnit, nothing.” Drake turned to me. “Killer?”

I looked back down the passage behind us and sighed. Even if I could communicate what I had found and provided that the information led us to defeating the whipmaw, it seemed my companions had made their decision. I did not meet Drake’s pleading look.

His face went flat and his heavy lids shadowed his hazel eyes as he turned away from me. “Fine. Ya’ll are right. Let’s go. I need a bath.”

Azyrin smiled and clapped Drake on the shoulder. Makha’s eyebrows knit together as she shot the rogue a worried look, but he followed Rahiel’s quickly disappearing form through the stalagmite forest without further complaint.

I slipped my bow over my shoulder and started gathering what arrows I could salvage. I didn’t believe Drake’s capitulation for a second. His posture appeared resigned and his feet carried him out of the cavern, but there was a glint of steel in his eyes that said it wasn’t close to the end of the matter.

* * *

No elves require as much sleep as humans or even orcs and other kin. As an Elemental Elf, I require even less. A handful of candlemarks of rest are good enough. Rahiel calls them my “cat naps” because when we camp on the road or in the wilds, I usually sleep with my head against Fade’s soft side. This lack of need for long rest means I am often the one on watch, or the one awake when all others slumber.

The summer moon was peeking through the unshuttered window and my companions were breathing heavily when Drake snuck out of the chapterhouse carrying his boots. I counted off the seconds in my head as I waited, then I rose, collecting my own boots and armor, and slipped out after him, dressing in the courtyard. The rose-colored moonlight painted the whitewashed walls of Stonebarrow the color of old blood. An inauspicious beginning to the evening’s adventures.

Drake was easy to track since I knew where he was headed. I caught up to him just outside town, shadowing him until we were into the rolling plains. Then I slipped up beside him, making sure my feet made some noise so he would be aware of my presence.

“Killer,” he hissed. “Should’ve known you’d trail me. I’m not going back.”

I’m not here to turn you back, just keep you alive if I can
. I raised my bow and jiggled my quiver so the arrows rattled a little. Nausea punched me in the belly as my curse decided to count this as communication, but I swallowed the bile and stared at Drake, willing him to catch a hint.

“Okay, then.” He nodded. “Let’s go.”

He had a pair of wire-framed spectacles with a smoky crystal lenses perched precariously on his bony nose. I’d never seen them before and raised an eyebrow, though I doubted he could see much through the lenses.

“They give me night vision about as good as yours, I bet,” Drake said, pushing the spectacles more firmly into place. “I borrowed them from Rahiel’s stash of things to pay back her debts with. I’d say don’t tell her, but heh, kinda pointless to say that to you, eh?”

I rolled my eyes and turned away from him to hide my smile. I doubted the flimsy spectacles gave him vision anywhere near as good as mine, and I wouldn’t have told Rahiel even if I could talk. She was definitely a shoot the messenger kind of person. Or perhaps a “turn messenger into pink rabbit” kind of person.

“Thanks, Killer, for coming with me,” Drake murmured almost too softly even for my ears to catch over the sound of the wind in the grass and the crickets chirping in some further off bluff.

We knew where we were going and we moved quickly, Drake’s long legs helping him keep up with my own. We were nearly to the sinkhole when my instincts started screaming at me as the chirps of crickets and belches of frogs along the stream bank ceased. I threw up my hand, sucking in a breath at the pain as my curse whacked the inside my skull and my head began to ache. Drake read the gesture and we both stopped, him easing his rapier from its scabbard and me slipping an arrow from my quiver.

Thick white mist rose off the water, flowed over the bank, and coalesced into Fade. The mist-lynx growled, the deep rumble carrying over the stream’s burble. Familiar dark shapes rose up around us. Blunt noses, thick heads, too many teeth, and ridges of fur rising on their spines.

The warakin pack had returned.

Splinters!
We weren’t equipped to deal with them. I could take out three or four before they reached us, but the fight from the morning hadn’t dented their numbers nearly enough. My quick survey counted fifteen, at least. I found myself pining for Makha’s armored bulk and Azyrin’s deadly sword and vowed to resume my melee lessons with Drake if we survived the night.

“Nice puppies,” Drake said, moving so we were back-to-back.

Fade growled louder and the large darker furred warakin I had pegged as their leader slunk forward, snarling. The mist-lynx turned his liquid silver eyes to me and then made an odd noise somewhere between a cough and a snarl before turning back to face the large warakin. In a smooth leap, he sprang at the leader and then clashed in a spray of blood and fur, teeth and claws tearing.

I raised my bow, searching for an opening, but Drake grabbed my shoulder.

“Don’t,” he whispered, looking past me at the fight. “They are battling for dominance, I think. If Fade wins, we might not have to try to kill the rest.”

I shrugged his hand off but let my arms relax. I hoped Drake was right. None of the other warakin were attacking. They stood as silent sentinels, their glinting eyes fixed on the battle.