Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) (30 page)

“You’re full of speeches tonight.”

“Well you’re full of doubt and whining.”

“Fair enough.”

Delvin gets them walking to help the half-elf keep warm, the hardier warrior practically dragging his sick friend along. After receiving a gentle elbow to the side, he lets go of Luke and they quietly wander among the sleeping animals. The feathers on some of the worst cases are already growing back thanks to the salves and potions of the Neberith priests. A harpy that Delvin remembers being near death sits atop a tree stump, her yellow eyes glistening with renewed energy. She hisses at the two warriors and extends her wings to intimidate them, the predator knowing not to attack. Luke bows his head to the wild-haired creature and gently pulls the other warrior away before she gets territorial.

“Looks like they’re going to have their hands full with her,” the forest tracker says, glancing back at the harpy. “Do you think they’ll need some help with releasing the more dangerous animals?”

“I asked and was told they can handle it,” the other warrior answers, tucking his hands into his pockets. They stop at the mother Verenstone Dragon and he gently pats her on the leg, noticing that the hardened stone on the end of her tail is still flaking. “They’re more concerned with the magical creatures that aren’t recovering. It isn’t hard to figure out that we’re heading toward the last piece of this puzzle. If we’re victorious at the Garden of Uli then all traces of the Dark Wind will disappear. I assume.”

“You mean if I’m successful,” the forest tracker interjects, his mood souring again. He reaches out to touch the dragon, but pulls back when he feels the Dark Wind flowing toward his fingers. “Even though we saved Sari and killed the bile serpent, she was the one who purified the temple. I don’t know if I can do that. The Dark Wind is writhing inside me like a parasite and I can feel it waiting for a chance to escape. I don’t know what it’s going to do when we reach the Garden. Heck, I don’t even know what it’ll do when I sleep.”

“For the sake of every god in history! Please stop with the fear and doubt. It’s nothing like you and you should know that,” Delvin snaps, throwing his hands over his head. The dragon turns her head to glare at the annoying warriors and turns back with a snort of flame. “Whatever happens, you’ll face it head on like you always do. Being weaker hasn’t stopped you in the past and it shouldn’t stop you now. Just think of all the times you’ve been outmatched and somehow won.”

Luke chuckles and looks at the few stars he can see through the clouds. “The Hellfire Elf. Twice.”

“When you killed the Lich.”

“There was a Spurge in Vorgabog.”

“Kalam, a few Weapon Dragons, and a long list of other monsters.”

“I did run away from Nyx when we first met.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid,” Delvin replies with a grin. He gives Luke a gentle punch on the arm, feeling bad when the half-elf cringes in pain. “I’m going to tell you something that the others would agree with. You’re the bravest and most quick-witted champion among us. The rest of us think and plan, but you leap into danger and work things out as you go. In the end, that might be what saves us. Not physical or magical strength, but the ability to charge in swinging without backing down and keeping a clear head when in the heat of battle. Hold onto that and you’ll get through this.”

“Thanks, Delvin. I’ll try my best not to be a burden.”

The brown-haired warrior nods and leads the way back to the tower, his exhaustion setting in as they near the door. Luke hacks up another blob of Dark Wind, enjoying the sight of it transforming into rainbow mist. Once inside, they hang their cloaks and boots by the door and trudge up the winding stairs that seem longer than when they left the tower. Each step is heavy and slow as the climb saps the last of their energy. A chorus of snoring can be heard from the room, which forces them to stop and stifle their laughter.

“Timoran sounds like a roaring ogre,” Delvin whispers.

“Actually, that’s Sari. She snores really loud when she’s exhausted,” the half-elf replies as he covers his mouth. “We’ll be asleep before it can even begin to annoy us.”

“Think I can get away with sleeping next to Nyx?”

“Go ahead and try it. She won’t punch you until the morning.”

With another bout of restrained laughter, the warriors slip into the room and find places to get comfortable among the pillows. It does not take long for their own snoring to join the symphony of their sleeping friends.

*****

Fresh snow drifts through the air and covers the ground, the brewing storm creating a landscape of unmarred winter. A pack of wolves huddles beneath a wide pine tree, raising their heads at the sound of an approaching horse. Their yellow eyes watch the solitary traveler, who bravely passes within a few yards of the hungry predators. Even with their stomachs rumbling, none of them move when they pick up the scent of an aggressive beast nearby. All they can do is growl and whimper as the easy meal passes by.

Moving steadily through the billowing flakes, Zander pulls the hood of his cloak as far over his head as possible. The whipping snow flies at his face and lashes at his reddened nose, the cold making it run and sniffle. Grumbling to himself, the monster hunter heads for a rocky outcropping to wait out the worst of the weather. Voicing its concern, the horse whinnies and snorts as it is forced to turn further into the biting wind. The steed pushes its muscles to their limits as it battles through the rising drifts and strength-sapping cold. Both man and beast feel relief when they reach their destination and the crippling wind is blocked. Finding a dry spot to make camp, Zander slides off the horse and removes the saddle to let the animal rest. It patiently waits for its owner to put the feed bag over its head, so it can greedily devour the oats. Once the horse is settled, the hunter takes a sip of whiskey from a flask and chews on a piece of dry, salty meat.

“Guess we should have stayed in Fyric until morning. I forgot to check the sky for signs of this storm and now we’re stuck. At least I remembered to grab you some food. This is probably for the best. I really couldn’t take those champions any longer.”

“They do get annoying after a while, don’t they?” asks Stephen as he appears next to the monster hunter. With a solid grip on the other man’s shoulder, the Chronos turns him around and stares into his eyes. “I hope you aren’t siding with my enemies. After I went to all that trouble of not killing you in the desert. It isn’t too late to reunite you with your friends.”

“My loyalty hasn’t changed,” Zander says, slipping from his boss’s grasp. He yawns and stretches his back, feeling his stiff joints pop. “I assume you’re not going to let me sleep until I give you my report.”

Stephen shrugs and kneels in front of the horse, reaching out with a gloved hand to stroke its mane. The beast tenses under his touch when it senses the primal bloodlust lurking beneath the man’s skin. He hears the pull of a bowstring and glances over his shoulder to see Zander aiming a simple arrow at him.

“I need that horse to get through the snow,” the monster hunter growls, sweat beading on his brow. “I know this won’t do anything to you, but it’s all I have. So please leave the beast alone and let’s discuss our deal.”

Stephen removes his hand from the beast and fixes his loose glove, a bored smile crossing his face. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll relieve you of your debt. I have a pesky forest tracker and a bunny to hunt down, so I don’t have much time to waste on you. Begin talking so I can be on my way.”

“Luke Callindor is going to get much worse within the next twelve hours,” Zander reports, taking another swig of whiskey. His eyes flutter at the sensation of warmth that runs through his chilled gut. “I’ve been slipping him the infected herbs that Trinity hid around those hills and outside of town. I even put some into the high priest’s potion. Those idiots never suspected I worked for you since they rescued me from the lumber wasps.”

“I sense some disdain toward the saviors of Windemere.”

Zander’s laugh echoes throughout the woods and he holds his sides, the shaking of his body forcing him to sit in the damp snow. Unable to talk through his chuckling, the monster hunter removes his wet boots and slips on a dry pair from his pack. Tears roll down his face and threaten to freeze in the winter air until he wipes them off. With a deep breath and another taste of whiskey, Zander regains his senses and meets the curious gaze of his boss.

“Those fools aren’t going to save anything,” the blonde man confidently declares. “They’re too trusting and stumble over their petty personal lives. What kind of champion focuses on something other than their quest? It’s like watching a group of children pretend to be heroes. Don’t even get me started on their naïveté, which is why I think all of them are idiots. Besides there’s no money in saving the world, so what’s the point?”

“That’s why I like you, hunter. You entertain me. Your friends tried to fight me when I threatened all of you. So predictable and boring. Then you attempted to bribe me. I admit that was a first.”

“Glad to be of service,” Zander mutters as he prepares his bedroll and gets comfortable on the ground. “Now I need to get some sleep before I continue traveling. I trust you’ll be able to find me if you need my services again. That is unless my debt has been paid, but I get the feeling that isn’t the case.”

“I have one more question,” the black-haired warrior says. He crouches next to Zander and folds his hands in front of him. “You were privy to a lot of information while traveling with the champions. Did you hear anything that would be useful in defeating them? A hint to some of their powers? The location of the Compass Key?”

Clearing his throat, Zander sits up and runs his hands through his hair. He can feel a painful tightening in his chest when he considers telling Stephen anything that might be a secret. He is not sure if the sensation is Isaiah’s lethal spell or his own anxiety. Fumbling for the flask of whiskey, he takes a few sips and shudders at the harsh taste in his mouth.

“Don’t know anything about a Compass Key,” the hunter admits, taking courage from the flowing numbness of the alcohol. “I have to be honest with you, Stephen. This fireskin named Isaiah put a curse on me. If I tell you any of the champions’ secrets, I drop dead. Not that it matters because I’ve no idea if I heard anything important. All I can tell you is that I did the job you told me to do and Luke Callindor isn’t long for this world.”

“That is a shame.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“Me too.”

Zander has no time to react when Stephen’s arm lances out and snaps his neck with one quick twist. The monster hunter’s body falls limp to the ground, his eyes still open as if staring at the world in disbelief. Chanting in backwards words, Stephen casts a spell to decompose the corpse and scatters the man-shaped mound of dirt with a kick. Wiping the dusty remains off his boot, he glances at the horse that is gazing at him in primal terror.

“No all my kills can be flashy and fun.”

The sound of hungry wolves rips through the night and the horse slowly backs away from the outcropping. It shivers at the touch of the snow and freezing wind, but it refuses to return to the protected area. A closer howl drives the beast into a panic and it races into the storm, the feed bag still secured over its head.

“At least one of you had a sense of self-preservation,” Stephen whispers as he scoops up the monster hunter’s badge and disappears in a blink.

12

Sari clings to Luke’s arm as they travel by foot through the quiet, snowy wilderness. She can feel his body getting cold even with all of his layers of clothing. A sense of dread grows in her stomach as she considers that the Dark Wind is not even close to being done with the forest tracker. Not wanting to worry the others, the gypsy keeps her thoughts to herself and pays close attention to Luke. Sari is so focused on him that she fails to notice that the air is getting warmer and they are walking through melted snow.

“Is this heat natural?” Nyx asks as she pushes her hood back and wipes the sweat from her brow. “It’s feeling like spring here and the road is getting muddy. This is why we should have brought horses. You know it’s bad if I’m asking to use those beasts.”

“They would have had a hard time getting through this too,” Delvin replies as he yanks his foot out of the muck. “Besides we don’t know what’s waiting for us on the mountain. Best not to put any horses in danger.”

“Fizzle not sense magic,” the drite declares from atop Timoran’s head. “This warmth true.”

“I need to rest for a bit. Something doesn’t feel right,” Luke announces with a cough. He leans against Sari and feels a pulse of energy run up his left arm. “You know, Delvin and I were looking over a map of the area before we left. There should be a river nearby that can lead us to the Widowhorn. Maybe we can make a raft and go by water.”

“That is a good idea,” Timoran agrees from the rear of the group. The barbarian fiddles with the Compass Key hanging around his neck, its silver chain glinting in the sunlight. “Though, we would have a problem if the melting snow has created rapids and flooding. We should wait until we reach the river before we decide.”

The forest tracker doubles over and clutches his aching gut. “How about you guys go ahead and I’ll catch my breath here? I should be fine soon. It must be the Dark Wind reacting to my empty stomach.”

“You’ve already eaten all of your rations, so you shouldn’t be hungry,” Delvin points out as he takes his friend’s face in his hands and peers into his eyes. “Your pupils are turning black. I don’t have to know about curses or magic to know that’s a really bad sign. Any way we can see what’s going on inside him?”

Fizzle quickly flies around Luke, covering the half-elf in a patch of colorful fog. The tiny dragon’s breath shifts and trembles as it molds to the warrior’s body. The covering turns a roiling black with only a few rapidly fading blotches of green. An occasional surge of pink runs up the warrior’s left arm to return the aura to its natural emerald, but the progress is swiftly devoured by the Dark Wind. Fizzle darts around Luke in search of the amber light of the griffin, which is nothing more than a faint line around the half-elf’s neck.