unnecessary chances, every thought focused on escaping Caidris and finding Tohrepur, finding Tessaeril. Though she held back from more dangerous maneuvers, her patience was wearing thin, and she looked constantly toward the dark doorway to the kitchen, wondering when Sefir would return. She tried to ignore the thought that she had seen the last of Brindani, brave fool that he was.
Flashing eyes and gaping jaws leaped for her, and she sidestepped, spinning and flaying the jowls of a second dreamer as the first found Vaasurri’s bone-sword waiting to end its bounding assault. Long claws raked her leg, and she winced slightly, accepting the minor wound in order to gain position for a deeper cut. Her sword fell like’a bolt of steel-blue lightning, slicing the thing’s throat. Its long, gurgling whine tingled down her back as she abandoned it to its death throes and made for the door once again.
The remaining three howled in unison as if reacting to the death of their packmate. The mournful cry tore at her nerves, aching deep in her bones, and slowed her stride. The cry was followed by yet another deafening roar, and she flinched as a large object blurred through her field of vision. Vaasurri, limp and silent, flew through the doorway and slid in the mud, motionless in the light rain outside. Before she could run to his side, the third dreamer leaped through the open window and prowled over to the groaning killoren.
The other two quickly cut her off, and she backed warily away. Their blank stares chilled the fire in her blood and made all too evident the sound of wet flesh sliding across old wood behind her. The sound rekindled her burning bloodlust, and she charged the beasts. Grasping claws reached for her legs as she jumped. She turned in the air to blind one of the dreamers and, landing in a crouch, hacked at the hamstring of the other.
As she backed toward the door, the beasts’ piercing howls of pain were outmatched only by the ominous growl that thrummed warmly on the back of her legs. Instinctively she kicked, spinning and slipping on a patch of wet floor, her boot connecting awkwardlv with the third drpnmor’a jaw. Trapped again, she began to backpedal, but flinched as a warm spray of foul blood splashed across her legs. A thrown axe was buried in the third dreamer’s side, and it whimpered pitifully, snapping at the weapon as Uthalion sprang into view, hacking swiftly and finishing the wounded creature.
Rolling past the human and his opponent, she felt the first drop of rain on her skin, a cool water singing through her spirit, cooling her fire. She stood protectively over Vaasurri as he gathered his wits and searched in the mud for his dropped weapon.
Uthalion backed away from the dead dreamer as the other two limped into view from the house. The human looked from her to the killoren, nodding once before raising his sword to the beasts.
“Where’s Brindani?” he asked over his shoulder, though the end of his question was cut off by a shrill, discordant scream of agony.
The entire house shook, a section of roof collapsing in a cloud of dust as the dreamers made a hasty escape, limping and whining through the tall grass. Uthalion fell to his knees, covering his ears as painful echoes reverberated through the air, a rippling tide of thick sound.
Ghaelya withstood the assault, forcing herself to remain standing as a tall figure appeared in the doorway. His silhouette writhed with movement as squirming tentacles grasped the edges of the entrance. Dark robes dripped with water and blood as Sefir sighed, his wide mouth smiling as rain streamed across his twisted features, dark rivers pouring through the long wound she’d given him from chin to forehead.
“Brindani is in there,” she answered under her breath and tried not to imagine the half-elf s horrible end as Sefir fixed his remaining eye upon her.
— Z- Z-
Pale blue light illuminated the rafters slowly spinning above Brindani as he Opened his eyes. It was as if he awoke from a deep sleep full of dimly recalled nightmares. With his arms outstretched and his boots resting lightly on the floor, he floated in the chill waters of the flooded basement and tried to sort through the mixture of sensations that flowed through his body and mind. -
The various pains of his injuries seemed distant and unimportant, minor details compared to the icy ache in his stomach, the bittersweet taste that filled his mouth, and the strange sense of calm in his arms and legs. His hands did not tremble as he raised them to rub at his eyes and splash water across his face. His legs did not falter as he slid his weight forward and slowly stood upright, studying the walls of the basement as if seeing them for the first time. Though his half-elf eyesight had always served him well in dim light, he had never before seen such intricate detail, even in the deep shadows of the chamber’s far corners. Amazed, he caught a glimpse of his own sword beneath the water’s surface and picked it up, marveling at the flash of wet steel before returning it to its sheath.
As if in a trance or a dream, he placed his hands over his stomach, and though a strange need still tugged at the back of his mind, it seemed to have little to do with the silkroot and his addiction. A pang of nausea gripped him as he recalled the bloody flower and his own unbidden hunger as he had devoured each fleshy petal, but it passed quickly as a soft gust of air hummed across his delicately pointed ears.
The faint strains of a familiar melody filled his mind, long chiming notes accompanied by a female voice. The song had indeed returned to him as Sefir had said, a pleasant summoning that, he miild Tint. Henv HiniitrH it AiA nT+ command. He followed it to the bottom of the stairs, curious as to the strange will that urged him onward. The singing intensified at the top of the stairs, and he remembered his previous sense of urgency, the anger, pain, and bloodlust that had driven him to attack a member of the mysterious Choir.
A part of him recoiled at the blasphemous thought, but he forced it away, confused by his sudden disgust.
Sounds of battle drew him through the kitchen, and he peered into the gloom outside. Ghaelya and Uthalion battled against Sefir, though their struggles seemed awkward and stilted as the singer batted away their clumsy blades with an inhuman quickness, assaulting them with his powerful voice. His nearly boneless body twisted unnaturally, long whiplike tentacles sprouting from his pale-blue flesha monster seemingly more suited to water than land.
Brindani instinctively assumed a stealthy crouch and crept slowly toward the singer’s back, pausing briefly to squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head, conflicted by a sudden sense of fear. Sefir’s voice rang like a hammer against his skull, like the voice of a god warning him to stay his traitorous blade. But the beguiling song on the air grew stronger at the sight of Ghaelya, banishing his doubt.
The genasi spun and dodged, almost dancing to the rhythm of the song in his mind. He swayed to the sound of it, studying the writhing form of Sefir, somehow knowing when and where to strike, what he should wait for, but not understanding why. Gooseflesh rose painfully on his arms and neck in the singer’s presence, though he paid it no mind; the sweet scent of the red bloom cleared his mind of all but the task at hand.
He followed Ghaelya’s feints and lunges. The music built toward a crescendo, a swift momentum that could not last, ringing like a thousand arcs of lightning through his brain until a flash of steel called his sword to strike. Their swords scraped against one another as they pierced Sefir’s chest, one from the front and the other from the back, buried in the singer’s left lung.
Sefir spun around in shock as they withdrew their swords, hissing through his fang-filled maw. His rising voice, ruined by a gurgling cough of sweet blood, was no more powerful than a babbling brook. The singer fell to one knee, spitting blood as Ghaelya and Uthalion fell upon him, viciously bashing him down as Brindani stepped back, shaking his head in horror despite the sense of victory that stole over him.
He shivered as the song faded, leaving him alone and frightened by his conflicting emotions. Terrified, he spat the sweet taste of the red flower from his mouth, and he wondered what it had done to him even as he absently scratched an itching patch of skin on the back of his neck.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
10 Mirtul, The Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR) Caidris, Akanul
Water dripped into Ghaelya’s eyes as whistling wind cooled her skin to a color of watery seafoam. Thunder pounded in time to her bloody fists as she hammered the twitching body of Sefir. His pale skin was tough and rubbery, covered in a network of long arcing veins that pulsed weakly as she bruised her knuckles and took grim satisfaction in the monster’s gasping breaths. His roping tentacles, once so strong and constricting, wrapped feebly around her wrists and flopped against her legs as she knelt in the mud at his side.
