It let out another sound, but without the halls to echo it into a roar, it sounded more pitiful, more pained. The creature stopped just before them, gazing down as the silhouettes stood waiting in the hall behind. They were waiting for something. Syline looked to her allies, trying to get some sense of what was happening. Thelonious looked tense, his hand on his blade, his breath held. Amberly though was somewhere else, her eyes gazing at nothing. Syline heard her mutter, ‘mother’ under her breath, as Syline tapped her. Suddenly, she brushed Syline’s hand away, her eyes centring on the silhouettes in the dark as she drew out her borrowed blade.
‘Can’t you smell it? They’re demons! Kill them all!’ she roared, and at the yell, the dragon-like monstrosity screamed as well. Rushing forward with sudden anger, Thelonious added his own roar to the chorus and rushed to meet it as the silhouettes began to shamble forwards into the light.
Syline did not roar, it was all she could do not to scream.
Chapter 13
Nothing. The mine in the foothills, west of Russenholde, had been their last lead, a known den of smugglers that the watch had left alone until now. Kassandra had come down on it with the full force of the border guard, the watch and a dozen footmen loaned by the Petrov family. The smugglers had been run from their den like rabbits before a hunting hound and not a single one of them knew anything about the missing Petranski daughter. The border guard’s sorcerer, Ioann, had torn through them like a wildfire but had been left just as disappointed as her; the young man had been her pillar through all this. He and Kat, each of them a whirlwind of energy in their own way, never faltering in their hunt for Syline, never losing hope, unlike her.
Despair gripped Kassandra’s heart as she rode back with her men, her heart pounding anxiously in her ears like a war drum. They’d turned the city upside down, ripped apart a half dozen criminal organisations in their hunt and scoured nearby towns for any sign of her. The only possible clue they’d found was a guard, dead and frozen in the snow outside the city. His burns suggested he’d fought a mage, but Kassandra could not understand how that mage could have been Syline. Why would she have fought a guard? Why was she outside the city to begin with? The only possible conclusion was the kidnappers had a mage of their own, which lined up with them stealing the tome from Jane’s vault.
It was just all so much. She wished Peter was here. She wished she had more men. She wished she wasn’t so damned tired. These last few days, she’d barely had the strength to lift her blade, her hand shaking every time she drew it. She’d come on this expedition but had barely even drawn her blade before it was over, hanging to the back to avoid being in the way.
Her mind felt lost in a fog, struggling to focus, easily falling into despair and maudlin thoughts rather than focusing on the path forward, the path she’d bring Syline back home on. She’d still not found the right path, still hadn’t even taken the first step. All she wanted was to hold her daughter again. She realised then that all she could hear was her heart pounding. She could not hear the men around her, the crunch of hoofs on snow, or the jangle of equipment and saddlebags. She looked up from her horse’s neck; the world around her was blurry and hazy, her breath rolled under the pound of her heart, faster, panicked. It came to her in hoarse gasps. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fill her lungs.
She turned to Ioann, riding beside her, and tried to raise an arm to him. She couldn’t; her arms were slack by her side and no matter how she struggled, she couldn’t raise them. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded louder, louder. With each sucking gasp, phlegm and mucus rattled through her chest. Black spots danced across her vision, then white. White growing closer fast until it hit her, cold and wet. She realised belatedly she’d fallen from her horse. She could barely hear her men yelling her name and she felt arms shaking her and lifting her from the snow. It all felt so far away and only growing further as her vision faded with every pounding drumbeat of her heart.
The next thing she knew, she was waking up in her bed, the concerned eyes of the Petranski family’s physician, Galen, staring down at her. He was wiry, bald, and weathered by age, like old leather. He blinked at her from behind his spectacles. He’d been her physician since she was a girl and had been one of her father’s closest friends before his passing.
‘I told you; didn’t I tell you? I told you; you need to rest. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going on like this, then who’s going to find her?’
‘Galen?’ Her voice was a whisper, unfamiliar. She felt a cough coming on seconds before it hit, wracking her entire body. Dark phlegm, flecked with blood, hit her palm as she held it over her mouth. Galen stroked her back until it stopped, then handed her a handkerchief.
‘I need to get back out there. We’ll head south, past the border; maybe we’ll find sign of her in the city kingdoms.’
‘Go on then,’ Galen said, stepping back. There was an air of challenge in his words and she took the bait immediately, turning to stand off the side of the bed. Her legs trembled and she only managed half a step before she began to fall. Only then did Galen step in to catch her. Old bastard. He guided her back to bed with an air of superiority.
‘I told you, what did I tell you? Rest, exhaustion was already taking its toll, but taking a fall from that height into the snow? You’ll be lucky if flu and a fever are the worst of it. You’re not the only one hunting for her, Kass. Let someone else shoulder the burden. I swear, you and Anatoly both. He collapsed just the same way last night, damned fool, pushing his magic far past its limits for “divinations”, I’d bet. If Syline comes back to find her mother and mentor have stressed themselves to death waiting for her…’ He trailed off with a rueful smirk.
‘She’s my daughter, Galen, I need to.’ She tried to push his hands back as he pulled the sheets up on her. Her hands shook so badly and she could barely close her fingers over his. He sighed, watching the display.
‘But a few weeks ago, you could have tossed me across this room like sackcloth; now look at you. A stiff breeze could blow you over. You can’t save her if you can’t look after yourself, Kass. I’ll instruct your maid on how to administer your prescription and good hearty foods to help you recover quickly.
She gave in. What else could she do? She couldn’t even stand. He was right; he almost always was, a fact he’d been very smug about her whole life. He made her feel young, with that smugness, an uncle in all but blood. He let her be weak. A sniffle left her as he fluffed up the pillow. Tears budded at the corner of her eyes.
‘I’m so scared, Galen.’
He sighed, placing a hand on her head for a moment, just as she would for her daughters. ‘I know. But she’s a Petranski, Kass, and your family breeds them tough. She’ll come back to the nest, I’m sure of it. Let’s just focus on making sure you’re upright to see it, hmn?’ He patted her shoulder softly. She could only nod, but the tears came freely now and harder than before, permission finally given for the dam to break.
‘I’d like to be alone,’ she managed through gulping breaths, thick with tears and mucus.
‘Alright, dear. Ring the bell if you need anything. I’ll be around for a while longer to talk to your maid.’ With that, he rose, making his way out the door. When it closed behind him, she truly gave in, wracking sobs filling the room.
It hurt Magdova in ways she could barely comprehend to see her like that. Her mother, her unbreakable mother, crumbling. She and Kassandra, who was practically glued to her hip these days, had planned to go and check on her and make sure she was alright. Kassandra had been sure a hug would’ve helped, but as the pair looked in through the barely opened door, Magdova knew there was no making this better. Not until Syline came home safe, and if her mother was crying like this, they must still be no closer to finding her than the day she’d disappeared. Her mother had her head in her hands, her entire body rocking with the weight of her sobs of her despair. Beside her, Kassandra whimpered to see it, tears beginning to well up.
‘Hey, hey, shhh,’ Magdova whispered, pulling her back from the door and clicking it closed before she hefted her sister up. She wanted to cry so badly herself, to give in, to scream and rave and beg the gods to bring her sister back, but right now, they both needed her to be strong. Her mother needed this space and her sister needed a shoulder, so she gave her hers, hefting Kassandra into her arms and stroking her hair as she carried her away. It was for the best that her sister buried her head into her shoulder when she began to bawl. It meant she didn’t see how Magdova’s lips quivered.
Please, Wanderer, guide her road home, she prayed, for it was the only thing she had left.
Thelonious faced down the creature before him. It looked tormented, but he knew full well that wouldn’t make it any less dangerous. It was horrific, and was far, far larger than him. You don’t need to kill it, he told himself, you just need to hold it back. You just need to survive. You just need to keep it away from Syline. Give her time.
The creature let out another awful undulating, distorted roar and the smell of its breath – rotten eggs, pus and acid – brought his gorge up. It reared up, fore-tentacles writhing wildly. It was hard to keep track of them, harder still to tell how to reply. So, he went on the offensive. He had no faith in his ability to defend against something this big. There was little room around the aberration, no way he could squeeze past it or get behind it. Staying afar would only have it charge in closer and pressure Syline all the more, so he’d have to get in close and keep those awful tentacles busy as best he could. Thelonious let out another battle cry, ducking the first lash of one of its tentacles. It used them as whips, lashing at the air around him rather than just swiping wildly. Maybe they weren’t as strong as they looked. Still, after a glancing blow to his shoulder nearly tore it from its socket, he was certain he wouldn’t be getting back up if those hit him head-on.
He ran for its front. Reared back, it was exposing its underbelly, which was formed entirely from scar tissue that showed signs that looked worryingly like suture marks, unlike the scaley, hard flesh on its back. This close, it hopefully wouldn’t be able to bring its whips to bear. He swung for its chest. He didn’t expect to do any real damage to a monster like this, but he had to make sure it didn’t lose interest in him. It let out a shriek that shook the walls as thick, brown blood smelling of vomit and salt wept from the wound. If it bled, he could kill it.
Thelonious felt a bit more confidence brimming up in him. It was big, but it was wild. He might be able to deal with this thing, after all. He’d been right in his guess that it would have a harder time bringing its tentacles to bear right up close to it, but that didn’t mean it was defenceless. By no means was it that. Thelonious found himself immediately on the back foot again as it swung its head down to bite at him with its distorted, equine-like, blocky teeth. Thelonious scrambled backwards, the creature’s awful, foetid spittle showering over his face. He forced down his gorge yet again as it pushed him back far enough to have Syline at his back, a bite scraping off one of his pauldrons and denting the steel in against his flesh.
Damn his curiosity, why’d they have to come down here?
While Thelonious was fighting one gigantic horror, Amberly had been tasked with taking on many smaller ones. None were quite as horrifying as the beast breathing down her neck, but Syline was certain she’d be having nightmares about these things all the same. A dozen, maybe more, of the shambling, melted flesh horrors advanced towards her with the finality of a death sentence. Syline was trapped between both fights, forced to keep an eye on both as they closed in on her. The silhouettes looked as if they had once been people – deep elves to be specific, considering the nearly black, purplish flesh. It wasn’t right to call it skin anymore.
Each of the creatures looked as if they’d been placed in a sculptor’s kiln and left in until their flesh was runny and soft, just like so much clay. Then, whatever mad sculptor had created these monstrosities, had flicked and played with them, adding new parts: a horn here, tentacles there, a third arm there, it was hard to tell their exact numbers with their silhouettes so distorted, so wrong. These extra parts looked solid and thought over, but the rest of them were never fixed, their flesh runny and hanging in great folds from their body. To be them must be sheer, never-ending agony, but looking in their eyes, Syline could see nothing. No emotion, no flicker of sentience. They were empty shells.
While Thelonious pushed the huge, draconic monstrosity back, Amberly had been fighting hard against the creatures, striving to drive them away. She managed to dodge between them and fight unabated for the most part. Watching her left Syline jealous. She did such an astonishing job managing so many foes at once and her expertise with Syline’s own sword far exceeded anything she’d ever managed. She might even be a match for Kat. Only once did they manage to land a blow on her, but that single blow floored the demon hunter, letting the horrific monsters get to Syline. She scrambled away and frantically cast a flame dagger from her staff. She swung it back and forth, screaming as she tried to drive them back. Drive them back she did. The creatures had seemed terrified of the flames, and hurriedly moved away from her, some even breaking their silence to wail as they retreated.
‘Syline!’ Amberly said, looking back to her with a twinkle in her eye, ‘find the biggest fire spell you can cast.’
The creature lunged in for a bite, which Thelonious met with an over-the-shoulder slice that cleft its muzzle. It reared back, squealing and very nearly took his sword with it. He yanked it back with a curse, just in time to see the bone he’d cracked beneath the flesh already knitting itself back together. The wound he’d left on its chest was doing the same. Okay, maybe he wouldn’t be able to kill it after all, but he could annoy it, at least.
