Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (5 page)

“That sums it up pretty nicely,” Delvin claims with a chuckle. He slaps Luke on the back and prods him to continue walking. “Stay alert and take point. This isn’t combat, so you don’t have to worry too much. Goblins wouldn’t attack a group with our size and variety. Not without scouting us first and between you and Timoran, we’ll notice them.”

“Or we can look up,” Sari mentions, pointing at the thick canopy.

Yellow eyes peer down at the adventurers from the branches that span over the path. The ivory horns and dark red skin of the goblins can be seen in the few beams of sunlight that pierce the thick treetops. The creatures point their spears and stone axes at the intruders, a low murmur running through the large hunting party. Their wide feet grip the branches and their mottled claws leaves thin scratches in the wood. With a series of hisses and snarls, many of the beasts drop to the ground and surround the path, their bodies cloaked in the thick mist. A very large, male goblin lands in front of Luke and puts the tip of a crude spear against his throat. The hunting party leader removes the weapon only when the half-elf sheaths his sabers.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Nyx announces, holding up her hands. She turns to get a general idea of where the goblins are, but they are too well concealed. “We were told that you know how to remove the curse on this forest. Please show us how and we’ll get out of your territory. I promise that we mean you no harm.”

“Curse not harm us. What you give?” asks the large goblin while scratching the wart on his long nose. The creature pushes his way to Nyx, nearly knocking Delvin off the path. “Why we trust you?”

“My friends and I are the champions of Gabriel and it is our destiny to cleanse the forest,” the caster explains, kneeling to look the goblin warrior in the eyes. The stench that wafts off the leader is very powerful, so she creates an invisible barrier to plug her nose. “I’m sure you don’t like people aimlessly wandering around your forest. The longer the curse goes on, the more crowded your territory will become. There’s the chance that it can reach a point where city-folk find your womb tree. Let us prevent that from happening.”

The goblin leans forward with an angry snarl. “How you know of womb tree?”

“I protected the womb tree of the goblins near Hero’s Gate. I guess you can say I’m a goblin friend,” Nyx proudly answers. She leaps to her feet when the creatures erupt in a symphony of screeches and shrieks. The goblin leader rushes out from among the adventurers to leap back into trees. “We don’t want any trouble!”

“You friends with enemy! Intruders! Elder will judge!”

“It never crossed your mind that goblin tribes have feuds, did it?” Sari whispers to Nyx.

The gypsy moves to draw her daggers when a goblin drops from the branches and knocks her off the path. Sari’s mind is plunged into a thick fog, making her helpless as the creatures tie her up. The large goblin rushes out of the trees to tackle Luke into the mist and pins him against an oak, forcing the warrior’s mouth open to inhale the curse. A rope flies out of the branches to wrap around Delvin’s neck, the chattering creatures leaping from their perches and yanking him into the forest. Nyx is about to cast a spell when the pack rushes forward and drags the caster to her bound friends, all of them succumbing to the mental fog.

“My friend and I ask to go peacefully,” Timoran declares while raising his hands. A goblin tries to rush him off the path, but is driven away when Fizzle whips it with his tail. “If we are allowed to retain our senses then we can argue our case to your elder. This would prevent unnecessary bloodshed, which I prefer because I do not want to hurt any of you.”

“We can kill others,” the large goblin says as he steps back on the path.

“Do so and I will end your entire tribe,” the barbarian replies with a fierce stare that sends a chill through the surrounding creatures.

“Follow, but keep weapon on back.”

*****

Timoran and Fizzle stand very still in the middle of the goblin village as they watch the creatures gather around them. Like the one near Hero’s Gate, the huts are made out of mud and twigs with a deep recess hollowed out beneath them. Each with a cautious guard, crude scaffolds are scattered about with thick vines running between them. The green plants have wide, aromatic flowers that bloom in the darkness and attract fist-sized fireflies that illuminate the village. Tuning out the din of high-pitched voices and buzzing insects, Timoran and Fizzle stare at the enormous willow tree where clouds of colorful pixies dart through the branches. Frog-like creatures called trimmels leap around the roots and nip at anything that gets close to their razor sharp teeth. One of the amphibians moves too close to a batch of mewling goblin infants and is speared by the long nail of one the nannies, the squealing pest swiftly devoured by the spikey-haired guardian. She grins at Fizzle and licks her lips, making the drite flutter his wings and bare his pointy teeth.

The other adventurers have been locked in a simple cage where they mindlessly wander in a daze, occasionally bumping into the wooden bars. Their weapons have been left on the prisoners since the closest any of them have come to using their gear has been Delvin staring at the edge of his shield. Nyx mumbles around the gags in her mouth, a simple attempt to stop her from casting spells during her trance. Flames still race along her arms and through her hair whenever a look of anguish breaks through the blank expression caused by the mist. As if under orders to stop her, one of the others always bumps into the caster and breaks her concentration long enough for the curse to regain its hold.

Gentle rustling in the branches causes the goblins to stop and bow their heads, only the youngest of them daring to look at the approaching figure. A muscular goblin is carefully climbing from the top of the willow, his limbs decorated with bones that have been sharpened into spikes. His horns are longer than the others and end in forks that their owner has carefully cut into the ivory. The battered hilt of a shortsword can be seen over his shoulder and patches of leather armor have been sewn into his chest. With a wild scream, the goblin leaps at Timoran and laughs when the barbarian moves out of the way. The elder rambles in his native tongue, but it is clear he is mocking the large warrior for avoiding the attack.

“They not nice,” Fizzle whispers.

“It would appear there is great variety in behavior among goblins,” Timoran replies, watching the elder puff out his chest in an imitation of the barbarian. “Those near Hero’s Gate are polite and civilized with a desire to be left alone. This tribe is obviously more primal. I wonder if they are responsible for our perception of goblins since I see signs that they have a habit of attacking travelers.”

“What signs?”

Timoran subtly nods his head to a nearby hut where the glint of armor can be seen through the open doorway. Fizzle stretches his neck and squints, his eyes turning a dull pink as he whispers a spell. Looking through the wall, he sees a large collection of weapons, armors, and backpacks full of traveling gear. The dragon can even see a small pile of abandoned toys tucked into the corner of the hut. A terrifying thought crosses Fizzle’s mind and he steadies his nerves while watching the rambunctious elder. Taking a deep breath, the drite darts through the air, circles around the chuckling goblin, and soars back to Timoran’s shoulder.

“Bones in goblin are human, halfling, and elf,” Fizzle declares, earning a chorus of laughter from the creatures. “They going to eat us.”

“That changes things.”

“Coward not allowed to speak!” snaps the elder, drawing his shortsword and pointing it at the barbarian. “You and friends are ours. We decide your fate. Stand there and be quiet while Daga think.”

“I find myself unwilling to obey now that I know you plan to eat us,” Timoran replies, crossing his arms and staring down the burly goblin. “All we want is a guide to the source of the curse and we will be on our way. There does not have to be bloodshed.”

“You want to remove the fugue?” Daga asks with a cruel cackle. He bounds around the area to get his people whooping and shrieking. “Goblins want to keep mist. It make hunting easier. If it grow then we take river and city. This be our land and we feast every night!”

“Goblin not make sense,” Fizzle says, scratching his head with his tail. “Bones in body make mind hurt? Fizzle not understand.”

“Dragon is a fool.”

“Goblin is ugly.”

“Dragon be eaten first.”

“Goblin too stupid to catch Fizzle.”

“Dragon caught now.”

“Is Fizzle?”

The drite takes to the air and zips around the village, his body nothing more than a purple blur. He releases a stream of rainbow smoke over part of the crowd and they collapse into a twitching slumber. As the goblins panic, spears and rocks hurtle through the air at Fizzle in an attempt to bring him down. The noise rises into a din of mad screeches until Timoran roars loud enough to scare every living thing into silence. Even Fizzle catches his breath and darts back to the barbarian’s shoulder where he feels safe.

“I do not want to waste my time with you,” the muscular warrior states in a voice that is edged with anger. “My friends and I require your help. I will take it by force if I have to because it appears you are not giving me much choice.”

“Daga not scared of coward,” the elder declares, jumping up and down with his sword held high. The goblin slashes at the air, pretending to gut his towering opponent. “Friends will be eaten first. Start with dragon to make sure no trouble made. We take time with coward. Enough meat for everyone to get bite. How a coward get so big and strong when only run away?”

The barbarian scratches the scars on his shoulder and growls like a frustrated beast. “Why do you insist on thinking I am not a threat?”

“You surrender on path and avoid my attack,” Daga answers matter-of-factly. He bravely approaches Timoran and grins, revealing several missing teeth. “Daga know you refuse to hurt goblins. You weak so all power with me. Nothing coward can do.”

Using a fraction of his strength, Timoran kicks Daga and sends the elder crashing through one of the mud huts. The other goblins swarm toward the warrior as Fizzle takes to the air and races to the cage, covering it in rainbow breath that solidifies into a protective shell. With a fluid motion, Timoran draws his great axe and holds it so the flat side knocks down several of his attackers with every swing. He sends goblins flying and rolling in every direction as he patiently makes his way to where Daga is groggily getting to his feet. The barbarian charges the last few yards, sending the creatures in front of him scampering for cover.

“Daga no coward!”

Timoran hurdles the elder’s charge and spins around to bat a handful of screaming goblins out of his way. His great axe leaves deep gouges in the ground as he swings and misses his nimble opponent. Daga’s shortsword clumsily jabs forward, but the barbarian effortlessly blocks it with his bracers. The other goblins move away from the fast-paced fight, dragging their injured to the willow tree for healing. Every time Timoran deflects one of his enemy’s attacks, an echoing ring dances around the village. The noise causes the trimmels to begin whistling, the animals mistaking the sound for their own mating call.

“Will you be our guide if I defeat you?” Timoran asks, kicking the elder away. He scowls at the small cut on his boot, the damage caused by one of the elder’s bone spikes.

The goblin rolls and jumps up to his feet, charging back into the fray. “Daga not lose to coward.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Yes because Daga not lose.”

“Excellent.”

Timoran steps out of Daga’s way, watching the grinning elder harmlessly dive past him. The goblin is spinning around when the flat side of the barbarian’s great axe strikes him on the head with resounding force. The elder’s horns splinter, his eyes roll back, and his shortsword slips from his hands. With a spray of spit and a muttered curse, Daga collapses into the mud where he is flipped onto his back by Timoran’s foot.

“Is there a way to help my friends?” the large warrior asks the nearest goblin. The creature jumps and falls to its knees, preparing to beg for its life. “I will not hurt you if you answer my question.”

“Trimmel juice or return to big path will clear heads,” the terrified goblin claims in a stuttering voice. “I get juice for your friends. You get when you leave.”

“Thank you,” Timoran politely says while sheathing his weapon. He picks Daga up by the legs and slings the unconscious warrior over his shoulder. “I need to borrow your elder for a little while. You do not mind, do you?” All of the goblins shake their heads and back away from the smiling barbarian. “I thought not.”

3

Luke hacks and coughs at the nauseating taste in his mouth, the half-elf barely aware of the similar noises around him. He grabs a nearby wooden pole to steady himself while his head clears, the mental fog dissipating with a hiss that only he can hear. The sensation of his memory returning makes the warrior feel giddy and sad at the same time. It is as if there is something important that part of him wants to experience again and he is keenly aware that it can never be so. A chorus of stifled weeping catches his attention and he glances at Sari to see that the gypsy is crying. Nyx is already hugging the shuddering girl while Delvin leans in a corner of the cage, rubbing a few tears out of his eyes.

“Are you guys okay?” Luke asks before a harsh memory returns to his mind. He falls to his knees gasping for air and punches the ground. “By the gods, that was bad. Just a wave of anguish and sorrow as if I was reliving Fritz’s death and Nimby’s betrayal. Is that what happened to all of you?”

“I saw my clan getting wiped out again,” Sari whispers, clinging to Nyx. Her body is already showing patches of frost in an attempt to defend against the attack. “Then I remembered my time in Kalam’s dungeon and getting Mira killed and being tortured and . . . my life has been terrible this last year. What did you see, Delvin?”

“Remembered that I can never see my family again,” the warrior states, taking a deep, cleansing breath. He sees a flicker of confusion on Luke and Sari’s faces and runs a hand through his hair. “I thought Nyx would have told everyone my story, but I guess not. I’m from the Yagervan Plains and . . . an event in my childhood caused me to leave home. I can never return without making trouble for my parents and tribe. They’ve probably forgotten me by now. You seem fine, Nyx.”

“I remembered losing my parents, but I found them. Everything else . . . I just couldn’t feel the same level of grief that I did in the actual moment,” the caster explains while she strokes the gypsy’s hair. She runs a red hot hand along the cage bars, turning the wood into ashes that are strewn across the path by the wind. “Maybe I’m more broken than I thought. I always believed death surrounded me since I was a child. Uh, what are Timoran and Fizzle doing?”

His back to the broken cage, the barbarian is standing in the middle of the road and glaring at Daga. Fizzle is hovering with his tail wrapped around the goblin’s legs, dangling him in front of the towering warrior. When Daga spits at Timoran, he is hauled high above the forest where he screams in terror. The drite slowly lowers him, occasionally pulling him back up to make sure the goblin remains scared. This repeats itself a few times before the elder is reduced to a crying, squealing mess of oily tears.

“Fizzle having fun,” the drite declares as the others approach. He waves to his friends and happily spins Daga over Timoran’s head. “Bad goblin about to tell us where go.”

“What happened with the goblins?” Nyx asks, her arm still tight around Sari’s shoulders.

“Unlike your friends, this tribe eats travelers. They believe the curse makes hunting easier, so they were unwilling to cooperate,” Timoran answers as he grabs Daga by the neck. The goblin growls and hisses, baring his yellow teeth in a feeble attempt to threaten the barbarian. “I suggest your tribe find another means of sustenance. If I return to these woods and learn you are still eating people, I will call the warriors of my tribe to drive you into the L’dandrin River. Now tell us where to go to end this curse.”

“Daga not help when threatened. Tanki promised reward for showing path.”

“The reward is that I do not crush your head like an egg,” the barbarian growls, his patience coming to an end. “I defeated you and earned your help. By your own honor, you must assist us like you promised.”

“Daga never said he had honor.”

Sari places a gentle hand on Timoran’s back and smiles at the fuming warrior. “Do you mind if I hurry this along? I’m sure I can get him to talk.”

“Daga not interested in bloated cow,” the goblin snaps, gurgling when the hand around his throat tightens. He gasps for air when he is placed on the ground in front of the gypsy. “Daga know your kind. Not work because Daga find you ugly. Too much meat in wrong places and smell too sweet. Cow should stick to coward or dog man.”

Sari rubs her hands together and breaths on her palms, manipulating the droplets of spit into frost. With a whispered spell, she smacks Daga in the chest and covers him in ice from the neck down. The goblin’s teeth chatter and he screeches in pain from the cold that pierces the skin that is not connected to leather patches. Making sure the fight is sucked out of him, Sari takes her time cleaning her hands on a rag and adjusting her colorful skirts.

“Now I’m going to let you out whether you help us or not. The only question is what method you prefer,” the gypsy calmly explains, stroking the goblin’s cheek. She frowns when Daga cries and whimpers, pity replacing the fierceness in her eyes. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. I don’t enjoy doing this, little elder. Tell us what we need to know and I’ll make the ice disappear. If you keep refusing then my angry-looking friend over there will use her fire magic to release you. Only her method will be more painful and probably kill you. Considering your tribe eats people like me and you’ve been really mean to us, I’m not that concerned with what happens to you. We’ll simply go back to your home and grab another goblin. Probably a few if they’re as stubborn as you.”

“Sari can be really scary,” Delvin whispers to Luke. “Scarier than Nyx.”

“I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to realize that.”

The elder screams in pain and frustration before letting his head hang in defeat. “Daga not guide, but told way. Path is in air and can be heard by special ears. Must avoid breathing mist or be lost. Follow song to sleeper. Wake her to end curse.”

“We have to find a way to avoid inhaling the mist while following a song heard by special ear,” Sari says, earning a rapid nod from her prisoner. She raps her knuckles on the ice, which melts into warm water. “There’s nothing else we need from you?”

“That all Daga know.”

“Then apologize for making Timoran mad and go home.”

With a scowl on his face, the goblin bows to the barbarian who merely grunts his acceptance. Cautiously looking around the group, Daga inches toward the forest. When nobody tries to stop him, he falls to all fours and races into a thicket. They can hear the elder’s panicky movements for several minutes, the only other sound a nearby frog that eventually plops into an unseen pond.

“Well I’m going to guess that the special ears part is Luke’s sound sight,” Delvin states, putting a hand on the half-elf’s shoulder. “You really get your use out of that power. I’m starting to wonder if we haven’t even scratched the surface of it.”

“Actually, I’ve been keeping it on at a low level for months,” Luke admits with an awkward smile. He rubs the pointed tips of his sensitive ears and shudders at the sensation. “Still, my own hearing wouldn’t be strong enough to hear the song. The best I can do is hear heartbeats when I focus on a creature. I would need ears like Timoran combined with my sound sight.”

“Other problem is walking in mist,” Fizzle points out.

“Your magic breath helped Timoran,” Sari mentions.

The barbarian clears his throat and raises his hand. “I should point out that it also made me lightheaded.”

“If we were constantly subjected to Fizzle’s breath then we’d start hallucinating,” Nyx says, biting her lower lip and rubbing her necklace. The caster moves her hands over her hair, returning the ebony tresses to their rolling appearance. “That makes us helpless if we’re attacked and any of us who wander away will be lost. Fizzle wouldn’t be able to keep us going if we spread out. That’s if the mist doesn’t get more potent as we near this sleeper.”

“Please give me a minute to figure things out!” Delvin requests as he paces from one side of the path to the other. He comes dangerously close to touching the mist, but each time he turns on his heels and heads in the opposite direction. “Strange how the beasts of the forest are immune to the mist, but the griffin and Stiletto are susceptible. Are they really that different from other beasts?”

“They’re part of Luke and he remains in control, so it’s his mind,” Nyx answers, a flicker of understanding in her violet eyes. “The curse might be focused on certain mental abilities that differentiate us from wild beasts. It’s possible that the griffin is immune if she’s in full control of the body. Can you give her instructions and open your sound sight to her while she becomes the primary, little brother? Her senses are a lot more acute than any of ours.”

Luke relaxes and closes his eyes, letting his mind drift to the griffin’s consciousness. The elegant beast yawns and gives him the sense that she has been waiting for him to pay her some attention. He stands with his mouth moving, but no words come out. The internal conversation gets heated, causing the half-elf to stomp his foot and shake his finger in the air. When he turns his head toward the ground and growls, they can only assume that Stiletto has joined in the discussion.

“That might take some time,” Delvin says, turning away from the bizarre display. He reaches out to touch the forest tracker, but pulls back when the half-elf tries to bite him with a mouth full of sharp teeth. “If Luke can give the griffin control then we can put all of our rope together for the other part of my plan. We bind ourselves together and trust the griffin and Fizzle to guide us. The hallucinations will cause trouble, but we won’t be able to wander off.”

“That is very risky,” Timoran points out while checking the edge of his great axe. “Is it possible that there is a magic item in Rodillen that we can use?”

“Are you actually pushing for the use of magic?” Nyx asks in surprise.

“Magic will be involved no matter what, so I merely want a more solid plan.”

Delvin shakes his head and puts his hands on the barbarian’s shoulders. He lets go as soon as he realizes how foolish he looks in front of the larger man. “I don’t think we have the time to hunt for something that might not exist. Besides, we’d have to deal with the thieves’ guild and that’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I understand, but-” the powerful warrior argues. He stops talking and everyone follows his gaze to Luke. “That does not look good.”

Where the half-elf once stood is a grotesque combination of fur, feathers, scales, metal, and limbs. They can only watch in horror as Luke struggles to sort all of the parts, his body becoming more deformed every second. Spurts of venom fly from his mouth where long fangs grow and pierce his lower lip. A pointed tail erupts from the middle of his back and splits into a golden fan that flaps like a useless wing. Unleashing an ungodly noise from his throat, the forest tracker pulls himself back into his true form.

“What in Zaria’s name are you doing?” Nyx asks, carefully approaching her friend.

“If I combine multiple spiritual auras into one being then I’ll be immune to the curse,” Luke gasps, wiping some remaining venom from his healed lips. “She said it’s called a chimera. It’s risky, but she thinks we can pull it off and confuse the curse. If it goes for the mind, it’ll be cast out by the other psyches before it can enthrall even one. The only problem is that two of the spirits are being difficult. The griffin and Stiletto aren’t getting along with them either. That’s saying a lot since those two are always arguing.”

“You only have Stiletto and the griffin,” Sari says, pulling Nyx away in case Luke tries again. “Who or what are the other two?”

“A snake fiend whose tail spike I have as a trophy and the Sword Dragon I bonded with once,” the half-elf casually replies. He avoids the worried stares aimed at him, focusing on the spirits churning within his body. “I promise that I have this under control. I’m not giving the Sword Dragon much of a foothold and the snake fiend isn’t smart enough to take over. They’re just being difficult. Trust me on this.”

Delvin sighs and turns away, unwilling to watch the transformation. “You’re going to do this no matter what, so I trust you. I will say that I don’t like it.”

“I’m not enjoying this either. Stand back, everyone.”

Taking a deep breath, Luke focuses on the spirits and slowly entwines all of their auras around his own. He takes the form of Stiletto, who grows to the size of an adult lion and sprouts wings of brown feathers. As his head turns into that of an eagle, a scaly tail grows out of his hindquarters and curves over his body. With a violent spasm, Luke’s wings shed their feathers to reveal a pristine gold that folds against his heaving sides. A ruby tries to sprout from his forehead, but he rears back and screeches in rage, forcing the Sword Dragon further into the back of his mind and aura. The bizarre creature settles down and eyes the awestruck adventurers with the brown and gold eyes of their friend.

“Let’s get this over with,” the chimera says in the young warrior’s voice.

*****

The song that Luke follows is unnerving and resembles someone whispering a depressing lullaby. There are no words within the tune, but it does sound like it is being made by a human voice. Visually, the mysterious song appears as a white tunnel where skeletal faces occasionally loom out of the sides. Many times the path brings them to people trapped within the cursed forest. The victims’ faces are masked by distorted visages that hiss and scream at Luke, some even appearing to spin their owners’ heads around. Infuriated by the noisy distractions, the warrior roars back at one of the figures. With fading shrieks, the ugly face splits and the elf it had been attached to drops dead. For the rest of the journey, Luke refuses to acknowledge the victims even though the Sword Dragon gleefully urges him to put them out of their misery.