THUNDER PEAK, page 15
Reaching down, he gently scooped up a turtle and showed it to the one he called Paal. He had chosen Paal because he seemed of higher intelligence and the most receptive to him. He was fairly certain the one he called Zil was their actual leader, but so far that one continued his belligerence and remained resistant to his overtures of kindness and friendship. If that did not change soon, something would have to be done about him for the sake of the group. Something permanent that would assure the divided hearts and minds of the group aligned with Paal and not Zil.
Taliko showed the turtle to Paal and pointed at himself and the turtle several times, trying to pass on the idea that his Maker had evolved him from the reptile in his hands.
Paal watched for several moments. Then his eyes lit up and he dashed off, indicating for two others to join him as they sprinted into the woods.
Taliko watched them go, smiling appreciatively at Paal’s natural knack for command. Then his eyes fell upon Zil, staring after them as well, teeth bared in resentment.
Yes, something would have to be done about that one soon.
Paal and his comrades returned a short time later. Standing before Taliko, Paal opened his hands to reveal a small, red-skinned lizard with long yellow stripes and a blue face that abruptly scurried up and around his arm.
Reaching out and taking the lizard in his scaled claw, Taliko pointed at the lizard and Paal with a questioning grunt.
Paal and the others stood taller, thumping their chests and nodding vigorously.
Taliko smiled through his misgivings and held the creature up to examine it more closely. The resemblance between the two could not be denied.
So, the origin of the lizardlings does not lie within the Cave of Bones. It is similar to my own but dark in nature.
Hopefully that does not make them beyond help.
Is this another attempt to destroy Casey? Or one to perish StarFall? Perhaps both? More importantly, were they sent through the gate? Or is their Maker here?
So many questions…
A distant crack heralded the unmistakable sent of an eldritch flare in the air.
Taliko tensed. That came from the Gategrove!
Casey had been working with the gate all week, trying to open it. Had something gone wrong, or was something coming through?
Taliko focused immediately on the task at hand: the lizardlings. It was obvious that they too sensed the magical disturbance. Most of them had scurried fearfully into hiding spots around the cave leading under Point Lookout, while others had joined Zil, looking expectantly into the woods.
With a guttural command, he gathered them all before the cave, attempting to balance control with calm and get them out of the magically charged air and into the safety of the burrow. But just as the lizardlings were ready to march down into the dark, another energy flux, this one glazed with evil, shattered the calm. Amid this new round of chaos, the lizardlings began snapping and clawing at each other, returning to madness.
The same madness he had seen during the attack.
The Lizardling Maker. It has to be!
Taliko growled silently. For better or worse, there was no more time, the reckoning for the lizardlings had come, and he had to act swiftly.
Grabbing his bo~staff from where it rested at the front of the cave, he struck the wall with its silver top, causing a shower of sparks that quieted the lizardlings.
Zil and three others bared their teeth at him in defiance.
Wasting no time, Taliko clubbed the henchmen senseless with three swift strikes. Then he marched on Zil and forced him down onto his back in deference and stood there for a long moment with the silver tip of his staff pointed at the reptilian’s chest.
Better to destroy him now, Taliko thought, but his heart ached at the thought, and he simply could not do it.
Instead Taliko clacked his fangs, a warning to any others that might challenge him and then directed Paal to lead the group down into the grotto under Point Lookout and await his return. With any luck, the serenity of the cavern would isolate them from the virulent waves of energy affecting their minds while he dealt with whoever, or whatever, was sending them.
Once he was sure they had gone deep enough and were not coming back, he set off for the grove, hoping he wasn’t already too late.
Nightblade pulsed vigorously in anticipation.
At long last his patience was being rewarded, and the aura of imminent victory was intoxicating.
In keeping the intrepid shell warrior occupied with the scaled folk, the Cree Lord was able to remain undetected, secretly assailing the unicorn with the honey collectors and eavesdropping on their activities. The latter had resulted in information that convinced him he must alter his timetable.
For days he remained hidden in the shadows, passively subverting the girl’s reckless attempts at activating the gate, draining the portal’s eldritch energy for himself as soon as she summoned it. A true aril would have realized right away they were being thwarted on purpose, but the untrained girl could only conclude that she was simply not skilled enough to activate the gate.
However, he could also see that his efforts to impede the witchling were having unintended consequences. Like offering two cubs one bone so they would tug at it and strengthen their jaws, his resistance provided the exact training ground the half breed needed to hone the mental acuity required for spell casting and, presumably, control over a gate.
Certainly he had hoped for more time to recharge his frein, but discovering that unicorns could not grow their precious horns in the human realm was a call to action—he had to feed on the young unicorn before the steed’s magic faded or its flesh and blood would no longer help him regain the physical form he required to pass through the portal and get home.
Thus, when her sire and the unicorn foolishly believed her safe and left her in the grove alone, Nightblade knew it was time to strike; for though the endgame had been set in motion sooner than he anticipated, such were the Cree Chieftain’s manipulations that it had come no faster than he was prepared for.
Lurking in the shadows of the grove wall, he waited as the witchling sat down to concentrate, then gently nudged her focus to where it needed to be, convincing the half breed that she had brought the portal to life all by herself.
Swaying in anticipation, he watched the eldritch charge flit from stone to stone. Thus far he had been taking small sips; now he would drink deep.
The rune energy required for teleportation was immense: if he could enter the gate as he had done to stop the unicorn from going home and stay there, he hoped to maximize his frein for the battles soon to be fought. It would be painful. Being caught in a gate had killed countless others and might even destroy him.
So be it. Nightblade was decided. One way or another, this must be the end of his exile on Earther.
To acquire as much energy as possible, he had to wait for the gate to reach prime aperture, which meant the portal would be open, and if it was open too long, a platoon of aril soldiers might come through and investigate. Therefore, his strike had to be precise.
Alas for the offspring, if there was one thing that defined Nightblade more than malice, it was precision.
Unaccustomed as she was to wielding her frein in any capacity beyond speaking with animals, the half breed fatigued easily after he revealed himself, and passed out.
Now, with the gate energy coursing through his insubstantial bones, he could manifest for more than enough time to surprise and slay the spikeless unicorn.
But first things first: the half breed was in danger, so no doubt all three of his enemies would soon be on their way. If they weren’t already.
Fortunately, the shell warrior’s lair under the ruined aril tower was closer to the gate than the witchling’s dwelling, placing the pieces on the board in a perfect position for him to face and defeat his enemies one at a time. Just in case, the Cree Lord sent out some extra encouragement, a summoning call to the scale folk, urging them to join him in the grove.
As expected, and according to plan, Nightblade did not have long to wait before his thoughts were drawn away from the pleasure of scheming by a heavy thump, marking the arrival of his jevaled foe.
“Perfect,” Nightblade murmured, tightening into a boulder-sized cloud of eyes and teeth. “Though the variables be upended, the outcome once again propels me closer to my goals.”
A flash of whistling silver was his only reply.
The Cree Lord filled with mirth, prepared to scoff at the foolish assault. But instead of passing through him, the staff struck him a searing jolt that sent him sizzling across the clearing like a batted acorn. Nightblade sped through the air in shock until he was halted by the unyielding weave of the grove wall and burst into a shower of sparks. Shapeshifting amid the embers, Nightblade coalesced into a distorted quadruped. “You strike me in my incorporeal form?” he growled. “Impossible!”
The menacing shell warrior tilted his head. “Not for such as I. Who are you? And to what foul purpose are you set upon?”
“Who am I?” Nightblade’s guttural whisper was laced with malice. “One who shall soon take his vengeance upon you and your Maker’s witchling.”
“So it’s true.” Taliko shook his head in disbelief. “After all this time, the Maker’s enemies renew their feud.”
The shadow form let slip a sinister, knowing laugh and began to change.
Taliko’s eyes narrowed, watching closely for an attack as the shifting mass refined its aspect from paw to maw. When the visage of his old foe was finally revealed, Taliko sucked in a startled breath and rocked back on his heels. “What deviltry is this?” the shell warrior cried. “Saber fangs I see, teeth like I have not seen since the Cree Chieftain strode the mountain. Yet he I saw destroyed, and generations to come and go before another should rise to take his place. So the Maker told me.”
“So the Maker told you?” Nightblade laughed. “Your witch-maker lied. Indeed, I am he you waged war on once before, for the Cree Chieftain cannot be destroyed in this magic dead realm. Even now, thanks to the witchling’s untrained attempts to open the portal, my spectral paws grow closer to treading the ground once more, and quite soon my bloodthirsty howl will teach these humans the true meaning of terror.”
“Reborn?” Taliko’s nostrils flared. “How?”
Nightblade laughed off the question with a dark growl. “Be assured, without your Maker’s help, I shall carve that shell from your back until the magic that molds you bursts. When your friends arrive, there will be nothing left of your existence but my paw print in your dust coil.”
The enemies locked eyes, the tension-primed silence between them thick with the unbridled menace of their saber teeth, the black fangs of the Cree Chieftain slicing down to the ground, and the ivory incisors of the shell warrior curving up toward the sun above.
The confident Cree Lord moved first, shattering the standoff without warning, his breathtaking speed made all the more frightening by the utter silence of his assault.
Taliko somersaulted up and over the sudden attack with panther-like reflexes.
Against anyone else those combat instincts would have vaulted him to safety, but not against the Nightblade.
Rearing up on his hind legs the Cree Lord ripped into Taliko’s tail with his fearsome teeth, filling the appendage with icy venom before it could streak away overhead.
Agility compromised by the sudden numbness in his tail, the reptilian landed with a crash and tumbled over several times.
Nightblade never stopped moving. Like a wave hitting a wall, he was already surging back in the opposite direction before Taliko found his feet. Seeing the reptile facing away from him, Nightblade readied to clamp his deadly fangs on the wounded tail and flip the turtle on his back.
Yet just as his teeth arrived, the shell warrior side-rolled and brought the silver tip of his bo~staff to bear, impaling Nightblade between the jaws.
Reacting instantly to Nightblade’s shadow essence, the blessed silver plunged down the chieftain’s throat like a flaming fist.
Though empowered as he was by the rune energy of the gate, the shocking, unexpected charge of the magic staff was still too strong for Nightblade, and he exploded like a firework.
The sparking vapors of Nightblade’s tattered wolfen aspect fell back to Earth slowly, and both combatants used the respite to gather themselves: Taliko to thump life back into his lower extremities and Nightblade to pool his energy and thoughts.
The blond witch must have suspected I cannot be slain here, the Cree Lord seethed to himself. Why else would she have given this vile jevaling a weapon that can strike my shadow form and drain the frein from my physical form? Nightblade glared at the ivory staff in Taliko’s claws. This thing is a champion’s weapon. A king’s weapon. How had a mere Sentinel even come in possession of such an artifact?
Variables for another time.
He had thought the possibility of a draining prolonged conflict with the shell warrior unlikely. Still, it had been prepared for.
Time then to employ the tactics of the hypocritical aril, who so despise killing but think nothing of engaging others to do the job for them, just as they did in sending me through the gate on that moonless night so many years ago.
The pair circled each other.
Painfully aware of the Cree Chieftain’s great speed, Taliko kept his knees bent, ready to spring and meet him midleap, where he could once again use his staff like a lance. Watching carefully, he waited for the wolf lord’s rippling muscles to tense.
Charging, however, was not Nightblade’s intention, not while he was maneuvering his enemy into position.
The moment the shell warrior stood where he wanted him, the Cree Chieftain snarled, “Attack!” and the great reptile found himself swarmed over from behind by a quintet of lizardlings hiding in the grove wall.
Taliko rolled with the assault, casting his assailants away easily.
“Zil!” the shell warrior spat before he had even turned to look. “I afforded you safety. In choosing to rejoin your diabolical Maker, you and your companions force my hand.”
“Force your hand?” Nightblade howled with amusement. “They never had a choice. This was my plan all along. To keep you occupied and away from your duty while I fed off rune energy and my bloodthirsty honey collectors.”
“Growing stronger and stronger in the process,” Taliko surmised. “Your cunning knows no bounds, Cree Chieftain.”
“Indeed,” Nightblade agreed. “I confess to being surprised that you have somehow hidden away most of my jevaled minions, but no matter. Enough have come, and they shall lead me to the others.
“Step forth, my little ones, and let’s show this construct what our manipulations have wrought.”
Transfixed by the jevaling magic on display before him, Taliko couldn’t help but watch as the Cree Lord pulsed dark, noxious fumes into the lizardlings. Doubling their mass, evolving them well beyond their wiry three-foot frames into five feet of formidable muscle.
“Now,” Nightblade hissed when the making was complete, “destroy him.”
The quintet broke apart, seeking to surround Taliko. Seeing this caused him no great alarm, however. Instead, it was the sight of Paal, limping through the grove wall and over to the Cree as well.
“No Paal!” Taliko cried, fending off an onslaught of blows from every angle. “Not you!”
Paal glanced back at him once, then stepped into Nightblade’s embrace to be doused in ebony eldritch mist. When the vapors dissipated, Paal too was bigger, thicker, and more muscular than before, but unlike the others he had also fallen to his knees, eyes shut tight.
“Rise,” the Cree Chieftain whispered. “I have made you strong. Join your brothers. Slay the shell warrior and feast on his gravelly flesh.”
Paal opened his eyes, and with the help of a spear that was now too small for him, rose unsteadily to his clawed feet.
“Fight it Paal!” Taliko shouted. “Your mind is stronger now too! Strong enough to resist!”
Paal’s glassy gaze settled on the battle, and he took a swaying step forward, breaking Taliko’s heart.
Though he felt both affection and friendship for the humans, they were warm-blooded. Milk-bred. He was egg-born. Reptilian. And had worked hard with the lizardlings, hoping for some truer kinship.
Taliko knew that even if he survived this confrontation, losing Paal meant he would soon lose the others as well. In trying to save the lizardlings, he had also been tricked into neglecting his duty to watch over Casey at all times, and now it had been for nothing. Wrapped together, his failures struck him a blow deep in the soul like no physical strike could have.
Sensing his faltering spirit, the enhanced lizardlings rushed forward, and it was all the shell warrior could do to keep them at bay.
For the first time in his life, Taliko wanted to flee. If only he could pick up Casey and race through the wall out of the grove. StarFall could do it, but the steed was a true being of light and nature, while Taliko was merely a jevaled soldier.
After several leaden steps, Paal stopped at the edge of the battlefront, his head drooping.
“Destroy him!” Nightblade commanded, and Paal’s head snapped up.
Despite being under siege from multiple opponents, Taliko heard Nightblade’s order and risked a glance toward Paal. It was only a moment, but long enough to make eye contact and see the lizardling’s evergreen orbs were still glazed with indecision.
“Fight it Paal!” Taliko cried again.
