Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [96]
Myrrium and Oerryn flinched backward to the edge of the darkness, listening to the struggles of the two within, waiting to witness the victor's emergence. Myrrium giggled nervously at Aellspath's frenzied screams of rage. Oerryn simply hid behind her thick hair, gnawing at the woody strands and wringing her gnarled hands feverishly.
In the dark, Quin fought to maintain his hold on Bedlam while attempting to fend off the claws and teeth of the enraged dryad. The darkness was calming to him, helping him to focus as an older instinct took over, the power of a birthright long denied. His knuckles brushed against a fist-sized stone as they rolled and he grasped at it, digging it from the moist dirt of the grove. The dryad's claws raked his upper arm as he diverted his attention.
Ignoring the pain, he did not call upon cold shadows to assist him but instead summoned the warmth of light. His hand grew hot as celestial blood rushed to answer the call, filling the rock with the bright and banishing light of day. Aellspath recoiled, hissing, as she was blinded by the sudden light. Her darkness melted swiftly away amid the beams that streamed through Quin's fingers.
Quinsareth took advantage of her confusion and planted a boot in her stomach, pinning her to the ground before she could scuttle away to her protective tree. He deftly brought Bedlam's tip to rest on her throat, eliciting a moan of pain from the fiendish dryad. Though forged in magic long ago by a mad wizard, Bedlam had been blessed by the hand of a god who'd taken pity upon the wizard. No mark or symbol identified the divine benefactor, but the holy touch was unmistakable, steaming as it burned against the dryad's neck.
Myrrium and Oerryn froze, squinting in the light. Oerryn moaned softly, the sound of her magic worming into Quin's mind and causing him to press Bedlam harder into Aellspath's neck. Frantically, the defeated dryad screamed to cease her sister's dangerous meddling. "Be silent, you fool!"
The moaning stopped and Quin breathed easier, staring into the dryad's green orbs.
"Good girl," Quin said, adjusting his stance to deal with the stand-off more comfortably.
"If you kill me, they will kill you, sweetblood!" Aellspath hissed.
"Possibly, but their victory cries will ring hollow in your dead ears," he jested back.
Aellspath considered this, apparently not as confident in her sisters as she boasted. "What do you want?"
"The Tower of Jhareat," he answered. "Where is it?"
"You seek the red sorceress and her priests? Certainly no sweetblood is a minion of that one? Tell her we kept our bargain. No one would suspect an aasimar to serve such an evil!"
"I serve only myself. This red sorceress will greet me with as much warmth as you three have."
Aellspath pointed an overlong finger in the direction of the ruined tower. "That way, sweetblood, and good riddance to you and the witch." Then she added, after a moment's thought, "Beware the priests that ring the tower and their pets in the field of stone."
Quinsareth relaxed Bedlam's pressure on her throat but kept the blade close, curious about the dryad's volunteered advice. "Helpful now, are we?"
"We share an enemy in the blood-witch, aasimar, that is all. This forest is ours to rule, not hers!"
Quinsareth was quiet for a moment, turning the gleaming stone end over end in his palm as he thought. Looking over his shoulder in the direction the dryad had indicated, he saw nothing but thick tangles of trees, bloodthorns, and razorvines. He considered the obstacles he'd face once he reached the ruins. He turned back to Aellspath, who writhed beneath Bedlam's touch.
He withdrew Bedlam from the dryad's throat, keeping it a hand's breadth away but sparing her the pain of its blessed blade. "Perhaps we might help one another," he offered mysteriously. The game piece he imagined tumbled through his thoughts, bearing the symbol of