Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [103]
The tower was silent inside. Quin ascended the stairway warily but swiftly, expecting danger to come howling from the decayed building's hiding places. Nothing came to reward his alertness, which only made him more aware of his surroundings. Most of the inner chambers he passed were rotted through, wooden floors gaping with holes, some with no floors at all.
Near the top he could see the stone ceiling of the highest room and the soft glow of candlelight through an open door. With Bedlam ready, he took a shallow breath. Feeling the ice of shadows pulsing through his body, he prepared to face the source of the dark call he'd felt outside the Red Cup less than a tenday ago.
He smiled a killer's grin and rushed the last few steps, entering the chamber with Bedlam before him. A woman sat calmly watching him, reclined upon a red-cushioned divan.
Her dark eyes reflected the light of many candles, and her pale skin was radiant in their glow as she seductively rose to a sitting position and crossed her long legs, studying him. Dark red lips curved upward in amusement as something shifted in the deep darkness behind her.
Too late, Quinsareth heard the whispers of a spell being cast and made out the dim silhouette of a massive figure in the chamber's back corner. He ran forward, berating himself for being distracted, but was met head-on by the force of summoned magic. It slammed into his chest, an invisible gripping mass, spreading quickly across his body and denying his attempts to break free. In moments he was paralyzed. He could only watch as a black-skinned figure in dark robes approached from behind the sorceress's divan.
The bright eyes within the figure's hood tugged at some distant memory. The feeling was the same as what he'd felt before the call of shadows at the Red Cup, when the illusory red star begged him to the east, that same odd sense of a kindred spirit watching him slay the last of the Fallen Few. This figure had sought to summon him here, but to what purpose? The eyes were accompanied by a glittering smile of sharp, white teeth as Bedlam was knocked from his grasp to clatter on the stone floor.
* * * * *
Myrrium licked her lips with a forked tongue, stroking the bare chest of another quiet victim with her black claws. She had pushed through the thick tangle to lie in the open air, curious and a bit apprehensive about what might be occurring in the tower. The twisted vines rustled as Aellspath and Oerynn emerged, sated and sleepy-eyed, to stare up at the tower.
The churning clouds were flashing and rumbling more frequently, changing speed wildly. The arcane storm raged as its vortex above the tower grew larger and slid askew from the rune-inscribed spire. The Pale Sisters flinched and ducked as lightning struck the field of stone. Silently, Oerynn crawled closer to the nearby wall, spying strange movements in its surface.
The dense net of symbols and spells rippled and unwound, some disappearing, others upending themselves as their tight order fell apart in the absence of the Gargauthan scribes. The dryads gathered close, sniffing the air and feeling the stone restored in those places once burned and scarred with controlling magic. Their heightened senses could feel unseen forces working against the carved tapestry of spells, tearing it apart and draining its power.
Nervously they edged away from the tower, wary and alert as nature turned mad in the skies. The ancient roots that bound their lives together called from the forest, tugging at their primal need and sense of survival. One by one, they dissolved into the thickest roots around them, casting fearful glances at the discordant storm before safely returning to the pale oaks they had strayed from.
* * * * *
Lesani pulled her cloak tight against the howling wind, peering from beneath her hood with eyes that reflected the green glow of the lantern she carried. In a small iron cage, hanging from the end of her hooked staff, burned a bit of the green flame she had summoned earlier. She could not yet see the walls of Brookhollow,