growl of the hidden dreamer stole his brief hope away.
Ghaelya leaped beyond Sefir’s reach as the walls shook with the painful roaring of the dreamers. She gasped, bracing herself until the sound passed, the pressure in her temples threatening to burst outward. Sefir winced slightly, but was otherwise undeterred by the chorus of howling beasts. His bandaged, clawed hand stretched out, offered to her with a smile that reached her most nrimal fears.
She slashed at the hand, taking another step back, all too aware of the dreamer at the top of the stairs and unsure of which threat she should deal with first. Clouds of dust fell from the ceiling, failing dryly on her arms as tingles of warmth rose like gooseflesh across her body. She gritted her teeth, the elements of water and smoldering flame warring through her spirit, each calling for dominance and promising blood.
“Peace, child!” Sefir called, his hands spread wide, but held beyond the reach of her blade. “We mean no harm to you! Pain is a blessing only our Lady shall bestow.”
As she recoiled at the serenity in his voice, her elemental spirit chose. Crashing waves rushed through her body, and she rolled into a swift flow of liquid motion. Her skin erupted with swirling blue flares of light as she charged the mutilated man, her body bending through his faltering grasp, her sword rising to cut at the throat of his maddening voice.
Her blade rang loudly as it caught the rusted, serrated blade that appeared between them, a length of steel that bore her solid blow without bending. Hot, strangely sweet breath washed over her face, an overpowering scent of flowers and blood stealing her breath away.
“I bring to you promises of song and suffering,” Sefir whispered over their crossed blades, the power in his words caressing her cheeks lovingly as they tried to soothe the tempest that stormed within her. “Why do you deny what your twin accepted so willingly?”
Shaking free of his voice, she pushed on his blade, bracing one foot on the wall as she jumped and spun. Steel scraped on steel as she turned in the air, dragging her blade up and across Sefir’s face. She caught a glimpse of his bandages falling away, of the ruined, empty socket beneath them, — before kicking off the opposite wall and charging the dreamer above. A shrill scream of pain chased her up the stairs, the sound rippling across her skin.
With its fangs bared, the dreamer crouched low, snarling and shaking its head as if in pain. White hot needles of agony stabbed through Ghaelya’s skull as Sefir thrashed against the walls of the stairway, but she ignored the sensation. She thought of Tessaeril with each step taken, she heard Sefir’s promise of suffering with each quick breath, and felt a glimmer of the dream-song pacify the pain of the twisted man’s scream. Like a near-forgotten childhood memory, it whispered in the back of her mind and steadied the edge of her blade.
Her sword struck the dreamer just below its gnashing teeth, splitting the flesh of its jowls wide as she rolled in the opposite direction to her gruesome slash. The beast clawed at her nimble legs clumsily as it yelped; its stinking blood splashed on the floor of the narrow kitchen. She huffed like an animal, feeling as though the walls were closing in on her, trapping her and teasing her with scents of fresh air wafting through the window.
She sidestepped as the dreamer pounced, pulling her offered blade deeply through its throat. She turned to leave it writhing and gurgling on the kitchen floor. An unnerving sliding sound arose from the dark basement stairway, accompanied by light footsteps and creaking wood. A massive roar from the front room shook the floorboards, and she flattened herself against the wall as a large object was hurled into the kitchen.
It slammed beneath the window, groaning and untangling leather-armored limbs, a glowing blade of bone rising defensively as the killoren regained his footing.
“Vaasurri!” she cried in surprise and relief.
He faced her, his eyes widening in horror.
Instinctively she turned, her arms feeling sluggish as a dark mass rushed inside the angle of her strike. Sefir pressed himself against her, and cold, wet lengths of flesh rrraararJ Viiai* latro anI1 avma irt on iitnn rri*-in fiVtn cti-vire+rtltiA and screamed in rage, fighting to free her blade. Bloody | hands grasped the sides of her head, though she remained | trapped in an unceasing grip. Long fingers squeezed! across her smooth scalp, their clawed tips meeting at the 1 back of her head, ceasing her struggles. i
Forcefully Sefir turned her face close to his as rivers of; bittersweet scented crimson poured from the vertical gash J through his face. I
“Be still, child,”- he said, flecks of blood spattering on her I lips as he smiled and shook his head disapprovingly. “Your sister squirmed less.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
10 Mirtul, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR) Caidris, Akanul
Uthalion rolled as the dreamer’s weight bore down on him, tumbling and crashing into a row of empty barrels against the wall. Wood slats cracked and split beneath them, digging into his back as he struggled to keep the beast’s jaws from his throat. Long claws scored his armor, digging deep and drawing long marks in his skin at the end of each slash. He roared in pain, using the rush of anger to kick one leg free, slamming his knee into the dreamer’s ribs.
The beast merely grunted and ignored the attack, pushing down with its fangs. But the effort gave Uthalion the space to gather his legs beneath its stomach. He kicked out, sending the dreamer rolling into the far wall. In a moment of bitter humor, Uthalion snotted his sword iust out of reach, and scrambled to his feet. He made for the blade, half running and half crawling, but a thunderous roar intercepted his bid to become better armed.
Waves of sound pummeled his side and threw him, sliding in the thin layer of damp mud. Pain spread through his chest, and he feared a possibly cracked rib, along with the lingering ache of the wyrmwind pollen, might slow him down more than he already had been. Fighting to catch his breath, he caught a glimpse of the onrushing beast’s gnashing teeth in the dancing candlelight and instinctively reached for the wall to steady himself. His hand brushed against an object, and he grasped it, pulling it from the wall to defend himself.
He barely noticed the weight of the old hammer as he swung it blindly at the charging dreamer, It connected solidly with the thing’s jaw, jarring his arm and breaking the old wooden handle, but it did its job well. Bits of tooth; spattered into the mud, and foul blood sprayed his chest and face.
The dreamer loosed a piercing whine as it shuddered and fell sideways, wavering on its front claws. Uthalion cried out in pain, clutching his ears. His pulse pounded in his ears, and he was sure they would bleed, leaving him in an endless silence. As he used the wall to stand, teeth clamped down on his leg and pulled, hurling him across the room.
The quiet in his head shifted like molasses, and he felt as if he were underwater. He crashed against the bottom of the basement stairs, and the small candle fell, rolling in the mud, its wick just above the surface. Pain flared in his left leg, and he gathered his right one beneath him to dive for his sword. His knee buckled, but he caught himself on the banister and turned to face the beast as it rounded on him. Its jaws yawned wide, and he felt a swift wind brush his cheeks before the force of the unheard roar crushed into his chest.
His boots left the ground, and he sprawled onto the stairs, their old wood breaking as he crashed through them.
Splinters bit into his skin, and dust blinded him as he fell. He managed a single breath before finding the ground, gagging on a mouthful of dust even as he clattered to the floor. The fall shoved the air from his lungs. His arms fell out to his sides, brushing against cold metal and cobwebs. Even in his daze of pain he wondered if blood still stained the abandoned sword he pulled free. Opening his eyes, he squinted through the dust at the flashing, glassy eyes overhead, the outstretched claws, and descending fangs of the dreamer.
Metal and rust scraped as he weakly raised the old blade, braced the pommel, and cursed as the dreamer fell on him. The impact twisted his arm, but the sword held strong, driven through the dreamer’s chest under the beast’s weight. Uthalion gasped for air and lay still as the thing trembled and coughed, its breath strangely sweet, like flowers, in contrast to its stinking blood. Though its long, mewling whine barely registered in his ears, it tore painfully through his skull, a melodic dirge of death in a single, suffering note. A limp claw scratched feebly at his armor a moment before falling still, its pitiful cry of death finished.
Groaning, Uthalion rolled out from under the beast and heaved for breath. The handle of the old sword fell
