Pulling the blade free he studied the stinking blood on the sword, feeling the tightness in his wrist and arm, the speed and power bundled in every muscle and nerve. Some diminished part of his mind was haunted by Vaasurri’s words about the properties of silkroot, but the concern was fleeting and distant, nothing next to the three dreamers closing in. He turned to the shocked eyes watching him from within the farmhouse.
“Are we doing this or not?” he asked, smiling broadly even as arrows flew past his shoulder and buried themselves in one of the beasts. It tumbled down the slope, yelping and kicking up dust. Brindani laughed and slapped his sword across his chest in a soldier’s salute as he faced the twisted: hounds. “Excellent!” he cried.
Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him backward, still laughing his challenge at the strange pack as he staggered into the shadows of the farmhouse. Vaasurri spun him sideways, shaking him slightly and placing a thin finger to his lips.
“We have no need for wild heroes,” the killoren said, his once fearsome black eyes now lacking the terrifying luster they had held before. Porch slats creaked as heavy paws landed close to the open doorway.
“I beg to differ my green friend,” Brindani replied and set his blade to receive the growling guest as Uthalion cursed and dropped his bow in favor of steel.
“Plenty of time for differences later,” Vaasurri whispered and rolled to the doorway, his bone-sword slashing at the searching paws on the threshold. The dreamer whined and snapped at the fey, but caught only Ghaelya’s blade across its thick skull before it retreated to crouch at the edge of the porch. It howled angrily, a call that was answered again and again from its packmates on the slope andbeyond.
As Vaasurri and the others winced, covering their ears at the sound, Brindani felt little but the smallest pressure on his temples, barely enough to give him a headache. Before he could breathe easy however, a mournful wail followed the dreamers’ calls. Beautiful and full of sorrow, the new voice burrowed through the fog in his mind, tearing through the veil of the silkroot like the screaming groan of twisting metal.
He fell back, shaking his head and tasting the bitter drug on his lips, feeling the burn of it in his throat as the pining voice rippled through his skull. The walls shook, and dust fell into his eyes as the muffled curses of the others overtook the trailing edge of the singer’s thunderous tune.
“What in the hells was that?” Uthalion asked, his question lost as another dreamer charged through the
‘doorway. Blades flashed before Brindani’s eyes, and he blinked, struggling to take back whatever the wailing voice had stolen.
Ghaelya hacked at grasping claws through the window as teeth snapped mere inches from her hands. Uthalion fought on the floor, his blade buried in an intruding beast’s side as Vaasurri took up his bow and loosed several arrows into the night. Disoriented, Brindani tried to react, to call back the strength and speed he’d reveled in just moments ago. Ghaelya swore as a claw scraped her forearm.
“No,” Brindani whispered, wincing as yet another beast reached the old porch and the full extent of his unwitting crime lanced through his gut sickeningly. “I brought them here… I led them to us.”
He fell to one knee, shaking and catching his breath even as a soothing tingle spread through his limbs, calming his trembling hands and steadying his balance. His eyes burned with unspent tears, the brief shame fading as his senses returned. He spun at the sound of heavy claws on wood, his eyes darting to the hallway. Smiling as the fog of silkroot and bloodlust returned, he rushed to the northern bedroom, pausing as the hulking form of a dreamer crouched at the end of the hall.
Glassy eyes and bared teeth greeted him with a rumbling growl and huffing breath.
“Can you smell me, dog?” he asked, prowling forward, the bitter scent of silkroot strong on his breath. “It was me that you tracked all this way. And you shall have me… Not her!”.
He charged the dreamer, and it leaped through the air, meeting his quick steel with fang and claw. s — S a*****
Uthalion strained under the weight of the dreamer, shoved back a thick paw, and pulled his blade free of the limp corpse. He slashed at gleaming black eyes in the doorway, forcing the next beast back as he regained his footing, yelling furiously and planting his boots to take the next charge. Snapping bone echoed through the room, heralding the pained whine of Ghaelya’s kill at the windowsill as Vaasurri sent two more arrows speeding through the other window.
Growls and curses came from the northern end of the house, the walls shaking as Brindani fought on that unexpected front. Uthalion took all of it in, thrusting his blade at the snapping jaws in the doorway and shoving the dead body at his feet into the opening with a grunt.
“We can’t last here,” Vaasurri said, and Uthalion nodded, the shrieking voice that had accompanied the dreamers still ringing in his skull.
“No need to,” he replied, kicking the corpse with his toe. “Just had to set a proper stage.”
“Well, I’d say the stage is set and ready for whatever comes next,” Ghaelya said as she wrenched her blade free of a twitching dreamer. “Unless you’re just having fun.”
“Not in the least,” Uthalion answered and turned to the back of the room. “Let’s get Brindani and”
“This can end now,” a voice said, booming through the house and shaking the boards beneath their boots. Uthalion gasped and stumbled forward, turning as the words reverberated and distorted into meaningless echoes that burned in his ears. Vaasurri had squeezed his eyes shut, ducking down beneath the open window. Brindani’s struggle in the northern hallway fell silent, and the dreamers outside mewled submissively as they backed away from the house, gathering at the edge of the porch.
Crouching and crawling forward, Uthalion caught the knowing look oil Ghaelya’s face as she turned away from the window, shaken by the thundering sound of the newcomer.
“What was that?” Uthalion whispered.
“The Choir,” she answered at length. “Or one of them at least.”
Uthalion peered out the window and looked beyond the gathered pairs of gleaming eyes ringed around the porch. He caught a glimpse of a tall figure in dark robes. A palpable unnatural aura surrounded the being, clinging like gossamer webs of shadow as he ambled awkwardly down the slope, his movements quicker than his appearance would suggest.
“What is it?” Uthalion muttered under his breath.
“I am but a man, like you,” the voice said, oozing into his ears like molten metal. He ducked away from the window, as if he might hide from the approaching figure and the painful sound of its voice. “Unlike you,” the voice continued, “I bear a blessing upon my flesh and carry purpose in my heart. Call me Sefir, and let us have an agreement between us, man to man.”
“And what might that be?” Uthalion replied, looking to Vaasurri and gesturing to the back hallway as he spoke to Sefir. “For, truth be told, I can’t imagine what we could possibly have in common.”
Vaasurri and Ghaelya moved quietly from the room, the genasi looking back only to see Uthalion shoo her away quietly. He sheathed his sword loudly, certain that the sharp-eared Sefir would hear the gesture and hoping it might cover the sound of the others’ retreat.
“She is not meant for such as you,” Sefir growled, causing the dust to dance upon the floor. “Your band will be undone by the genasi, torn from each other by greed and envy, secrets and lies… unless you bring her to me.”
The words gave Uthalion pause for thought as the musical quality of Sefir’s voice spiralled madly into chaos. Each syllable seemed to fall apart and scurry into the cracks of the walls, vibrating through the floorboards. Somewhere in the voice were familiar notes of song, twisted and of a lesser quality than Uthalion recalled, but the connection was there.
Bring her to me; bring her to me…
He shook free of the memory and crawled away from the window, easily resisting the discordant charm in Sefir’s voice. Scowling, he quietly stood, backing into the shadows of the hallway and taking up a small lantern he’d found in the piles of furniture in the common room.
“Well?‘ Sefir asked impatiently.
“I’m considering it,” Uthalion answered. “Can you give me four or five days to think it over?”
A low tone, humming loudly, slowly rose into a shriek of quaking rage that shook the ground. Uthalion fell to his knees, certain that his ears would bleed at any moment as the walls shook, and dust turned his hair a venerable shade of early gray. He gripped the edge of the doorway for balance, the old wood trembling beneath his fingers and creaking as Sefir’s show of anger threatened to shatter the farmhouse into splinters.
“I thought not,” he grumbled, kicking out the legs of a carefully placed chair. It brought down a pile of debris,
