Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) (27 page)

The low muttering of a spell gives Timoran enough time to sprint away from the entrance, veering to the side to avoid whatever is about to happen. A dazzling beam of magic erupts from his invisible friend and cuts a swath through the teeming monsters. Wails of fear fill the air as the creatures panic and fly around the room. Many of them explode upon the walls and scattered rock formations, their bodies reforming almost immediately. Several of them dive for the source of the spell, haunting shrieks trilling from their faint mouths. Forced out of the entrance, Fizzle darts through the air as a pair of the creatures give chase.

“They see Fizzle!” he screams as he zips around the chamber. “Primal demons! Born from aura and not grow more! Dark Hazes!”

“How do we kill them?” Timoran asks through gritted teeth. He swings at the demons that are within reach, cleaving them in half and sending their bodies back to a newly made orb of Dark Wind. “I cannot tell if we are making progress. The wind can still take the living curse to the surface while we fight, so I assume we are failing.”

“Fizzle have plan!”

In a guttural language, Fizzle chants a long spell that shakes the entire chamber. The gray stone above the entrance melts and flows over the opening. With a loud crunching, the liquid rock hardens and locks everything in the large cavern. Another gust of wind appears to carry the Dark Wind away, but the living curse is splattered against the barrier and forced to spread across the room. The trapped magic whirls around the walls and creeps along the floor before reuniting in the middle of the room to try again on the next gale.

“That contains the problem,” Timoran says as he leaps over three demons and hacks them apart. “Although, it means the curse will build in here to the point where we might not be able to survive. There has to be a way to end this quickly. Can you cast more of your disintegration magic?”

“Fizzle would make us go poof too,” the drite replies, flying low and weaving a collection of stalagmites. A glistening spot of water catches his attention and he licks it as he passes by. “Fae water! If we find, it help! Very pure and powerful!”

The barbarian spins to strike all of the demons that surround him, sending hazy limbs and heads flying. “All I see is a pool of dead water to my right. Then again, our enemies would not have left such a thing in here. They must have corrupted the pool before they prepared these Dark Hazes. Is there a way to purify fae water?”

“Need priest, Nyx, or Sari,” Fizzle answers while splitting into three. With demons close behind, the fake drites soar toward the walls and explode in a rainbow fireball that engulfs their pursuers.

“I am beginning to think I failed to prepare for this mission.”

Due to the ease that he is able to disperse the demons and the fact that they keep coming back, Timoran lets his rage settle and conserves his strength. As he fights, he takes his time scanning the chamber for anything that can help. Another blast of wind pushes the Dark Wind ahead and the living curse coats all four walls. The thick ooze drips to the floor and turns into mist that reforms the orb in the middle of the room, the churning seemingly more violent and agitated than before. His guard down, Timoran leaves himself open to a nearby demon that slashes at him with shadowy claws. The attack passes through his body and sends an unnerving chill through is flesh. With a flick of his wrist, the barbarian slices the demon in two and both halves disperse into the orb.

“Timoran okay?” Fizzle asks as he lands on his friend’s shoulder. He blasts a demon with his rainbow breath, sending the creature retreating into the ceiling. “Fizzle no see blood. Not sure what happen.”

“It was uncomfortable and hurt, but nothing lasting,” the warrior says in a numb, distant voice. With a mild roar, he leaps over the demons and lands next to the corrupted fae water. “I can smell the infection on this water. This may have been our only key to victory since we cannot truly kill these creatures. It appears we will die here unless you have any ideas, my friend.”

“Pray?”

Timoran is about to laugh when a wild idea crosses his mind. Lifting Fizzle off his shoulder, he turns to the fae water and takes a deep breath. He goes down to one knee and places his great axe against his forehead, the edge making a small cut into his skin. Against his warrior instincts, Timoran closes his eyes and focuses on praying to Kerr the Barbarian God and Ymir the Orc God of Fury. The sound of the howling demons and another blast of wind makes his muscles scream for action, but he knows it would only lead to his exhaustion.

“Fizzle defend,” the drite announces as he darts into the air.

“Protect yourself, my friend. I shall withstand their barrage and grow my anger to appease the Enraged Lords. I feel that these beasts do not have the power to kill me.”

The demons converge on the kneeling barbarian while Fizzle tries his best to keep them at bay. They ignore the drite even as he sends some of them away with a twisting beams of prismatic light. With their ghost-like claws, they slash at Timoran and wail at the sensation of hitting nothing. Created to attack potent auras, the muscular barbarian’s lack of usable magic makes him a tiny target. Lacking a true intelligence, the Dark Hazes never consider searching him for the pinprick of a weakness. All they do is fill his body with a numbing cold that frustrates him to the point where all the warrior hears is his thrumming heartbeat.

“Intimidating Ones, I am neither a priest nor a shaman, but I follow a just path,” Timoran whispers, quaking at the demons’ chilling touch. “I have controlled my rage and unleashed it as a weapon using the methods of my people. This has made me a powerful and wise warrior. Now I face an adversary that my strength cannot defeat. One of my dearest friends will die if I do not succeed, so I cannot surrender. Please grant me the blessing of cleansing this fae water, so that I may use it to defeat my enemies.”

The constant wind dies as a booming voice echoes in Timoran’s ears.
“You ask for the wrong thing. Water is not your realm and your body is only part of your strength. Do you really follow my methods?”

“I have no magical nature to use against the demons.”

“You were chosen as a champion!”
the voice of Kerr roars in anger. Another voice laughs, but is swiftly silenced by a snarl from the angry god.
“You may not like it, child, but there is magic within you. The demons are too stupid to find it and it appears you are equally as thick. Such pathetic begging, I doubt you are even worthy to claim membership among my people. If this is how you honor my name then I will enjoy watching your bones rot in this hole. That is what is best for a faux barbarian.”

Timoran feels his fury rise into his chest and a low growl rolls from his throat. His knuckles turn white as he grips his great axe and tremors run through his arms, the limbs practically begging to be used for destruction. Waves of aggression waft off the warrior, embedding a spark of fear in the primitive demons.

“I am Timoran Wrath, a proud member of the Snow Tiger Clan,” he declares, rising to his feet and opening his eyes. Their beautiful blue has been erased by a burning white as if they have turned into tiny flames. “My blood is that of a barbarian!”

“Then prove it!”

Timoran unleashes a roar that shakes the chamber before he charges at the horde of Dark Hazes. Leaving a distortion wave in its wake, his great axe swings with amazing speed and power. The demons are turned into ashes when they are struck by the rage-infused weapon, which forces many of them to retreat to the ceiling. He attempts to run up a wall and leap at his enemies, but they gather in the center where even his powerful legs cannot propel him. Unable to reach the creatures, Timoran’s fury surges and he rushes at the only object within reach. His great axe drives into the pulsating orb of Dark Wind, which explodes with a deafening blast. The churning storm sends the crazed barbarian crashing into the wall, its howling winds shredding the demons that are too slow to take cover. After the chaos, only a handful of the creatures are left and they drift to where the orb once stood. None of them react to Timoran barreling into their midst and finishing them off. As he regains his senses, the ashy remains are whisked through the air by an oddly serene gale.

“That is the champion I wanted to see,”
Kerr laughs, the echo startling Fizzle.
“Never bother me with your weakness again.”

“What happened?” the drite asks as he cautiously approaches his friend.

“It would appear that I have more power than I realized,” Timoran says while catching his breath. He slips the enhancing crystal out of his bracer and holds it in his sweaty palm. “I trust you will keep this between us, Fizzle. I do not understand what happened and I fear our friends will barrage me with theories. After all, it is strange that I had a power that was ideal to this situation. This will reveal itself in time, so there is no reason to rush for an answer or concern the others.”

“Fizzle keep secret,” the drite promises with a grin. Quickly casting a spell, he dissolves the stone blocking the entrance. “Now we save Luke.”

Timoran breathes on the crystal and a savage wind immediately whips around the chamber. Rock formations are reduced to pebbles as the gales chaotically ransack the room. Fizzle darts behind the barbarian when he feels an enchanted breeze attempt to pull his wings off. Howling like a wild animal the angry air slashes deep grooves in the floor before escaping through the entrance.

“I am still holding some rage and it appears to be within my breath,” Timoran whispers in disbelief. The thought of what that gust of wind will do fills him with a sense of dread. “Do you believe I have made the situation worse?”

“Trees will not be happy,” Fizzle says, scratching his head with his tail. “What we do to clean air?”

The warrior sighs and turns the crystal over in his hands, the strong scent of Ifrit mead wafting off its facets. “It will happen gradually, but some may die before that happens. I think I misunderstood Priest Aneveom. This crystal was not supposed to purify the air. The enhanced scent could energize the sick, giving them enough strength to hold out until the Dark Wind is naturally cleansed from the region. We need something that can put people at ease and rise above their pain. Perhaps even make them believe they are healing, which can cause their bodies to react in kind.”

With a squeak, Fizzle snatches the crystal from Timoran and holds the smooth gem in his mouth. The drite takes a deep breath through his nose, filling his lungs and puffing out his scaly chest until it turns white. Spurts of rainbow mist bubble from his throat before he unleashes a stream of his hallucinogenic breath. Passing through the crystal, Fizzle’s magic becomes a glowing torrent that merges with the wind and absorbs the ashy remains of the Dark Hazes. The other crystals in the room reflect the colorful aura and fill the chamber with enough soothing energy that Timoran’s rage evaporates. A push of fresh wind rushes some of the enhanced drite breath through the entrance where it races toward the exit of Gale Hollow.

“I think we are done here. We will leave the crystal near the entrance, so the locals can remove it when its job is done,” the barbarian calmly says with a smile. He takes the crystal from Fizzle’s mouth and pats the tiny dragon on the head. “You are a much wiser being than me. We are lucky to have you with us.”

Unable to speak due to the strain on his throat, the drite blushes as they head for the doorway. The pair silently wondering how they are going to get up the chute they came down when they stop a few steps into the hallway. Both are surprised that the path is lit by moss that has absorbed enough rainbow mist to shimmer like gemstones. Next to the chute is the opening to a steep path where a very bruised, bloody, and battered Zander is sitting. The monster hunter grins as he pulls his cloak tighter around shoulders and staggers to his feet. Timoran chuckles at the sight of a double-ended reveler’s tail wrapped around the man’s body.

“I was just about to rescue you,” Zander swears.

“I am sure you were.”

Timoran leads the way into the stairwell and takes a great deal of relief at the touch of a crisp wind passing over him. He feels Fizzle’s tears of joy fall on his shoulder as a swarm of glowing pixies emerge from the ceiling and disappear into the walls. Their speedy recovery gives the barbarian hope that Luke will be on his feet and fully healed by the time they reach the surface.

*****

Nimby waits patiently for Sari to finish making Luke comfortable on the snow bed, her peripheral vision never leaving the halfling. Daggers and spikes of ice are scattered around the thief, who continues to hide his concern with a charming smile. The wooden yo-yo in his right hand whizzes through air, but he barely pays attention to the tricks he is doing. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the tense gypsy and bounces on his toes to stay warm. He follows her gaze to the body of his father and rolls his eyes at the curious nod of her head.

“If you expect me to feel guilty about that then you’re going to be disappointed,” the brown-haired halfling declares. He carefully walks around the corpse to stand on the other side of the bed. “He was my father and the one who taught me many of my tricks . . . well, a few of my tricks. Anyway, the man was a bastard and forged me into what you just spent ten minutes attacking with daggers and spikes. Nearly had me around the seventh minute.”

“I wasn’t really trying to hit you,” Sari snaps, her eyes flashing to the bubbling snow around Vile’s shortsword. “I could have stopped you easy.”

“Of course you could since you’re a champion and I’m nothing more than a simple thief and carpenter,” Nimby states with a laugh. He clears his throat and sighs, realizing that the girl is refusing to let her guard down. “I’ll explain myself if you swear not to share this with anyone. As far as your friends know, you killed General Vile. With him gone, I can settle some other things and I don’t want Luke trying to find me. That would be messy and I’m not really ready for that chat.”

Sari draws a pair of daggers from her skirts and points them at the halfling. “You murdered Fritz and tried to kill Luke. I might not have been with my friends during that time, but I saw the aftermath of what you did. There’s no reason I should trust you. This could be a trap since you people don’t seem to have a lot of loyalty to each other. The only reason I haven’t killed you is because you saved me.”