The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) (34 page)

He pushed the door open all the way and called for Grimwold.

Lethos! Your presence was so low for a moment. Gods, man, I thought you dead. Grimwold's thought rushed at him filled with genuine concern. It warmed Lethos to know at least one person cared enough about him to worry for his death. Of course, Grimwold really had to, for he would die along with him otherwise.

You are coming for me?

Yes, I saw what you sent me. Who is with you now?

Lethos imagined himself cringing at answering the question. The thought of that pain and ear-splitting ringing was enough to dissuade him. Yet Grimwold's death was his own death as well. Better to be deaf than dead.

I am alone, he thought then waited for the pain. Nothing, so he ventured more. I am alone but wish I had at least two more friends with me.

No pain. He wanted to jump for joy, but again it was eye blinking.

Well, your two friends are coming, Grimwold answered. Valda insisted she come to your aid as well.

Yes, please come, but I still wish I had two more friends with me.

The silence was filled with a sense of confusion as Grimwold tried to work out what Lethos meant. So he decided to push a little harder.

I wish two more friends would bring a special stone. Maybe a birthday gift.

Still no pain. This was actually becoming fun, baring the tentacle demon and invisible assassin and all the corpses.

One of the friends has only one eye and long, thin--

He should have picked arms but thought of tentacles instead. That was enough specificity that the pain racked him again and the ringing shivered through his skull. This time it went on for what felt endless hours. Soon he could see nothing but white pain and hear nothing but the slicing wail. If his body was numb with cold, that vanished, replaced all over by reverberations of agony like his entire body was being shaken into pieces.

When the pain of the ringing ceased, Lethos was still numb with the savagery of it. His sight slowly melted back into focus, clouds of white pain still clinging to the edge of his vision. He was still frozen in place, though the rocking pain seemed it should have shifted his position. Once he fully recovered, he saw two blurry shapes at the edge of the field where he had once spied on the same scene.

The shapes resolved into the tall form of Grimwold and the golden-haired, shorter form of Valda. Neither took any pains to conceal themselves, but both clung to the trunks of bare-branched elm trees that ringed the handful of A-frame homes. His first instinct was to reach out to Grimwold's thoughts with more warnings. He had to continue to hint at Sharatar's presence. What else could he say without reigniting the agony of the curse Avulash had painted in blood upon his forehead?

They stepped cautiously from behind the trees. Their swords were both drawn and caught a glimmer of the flat sunlight. Grimwold was again dressed in his mail coat and carried a plain wooden shield on his left arm. He looked exactly as he had on the day he was felled by the raider's arrow. It was a bad omen to Lethos. Valda, gods protect her, was dressed in her deerskin pants and leather vest, a green flare of her blouse showing beneath. She too carried a plain round shield and it looked natural on her arm. He strained to see the details of her face, but she was still too far off.

You see me Grimwold? Even his mental voice was tremulous as he reached out to Grimwold. His friend seemed to look toward him across the field and over the pile of corpses, yet did not answer. His head seemed to nod, but it could have been a trick of the light. The black mist surrounding the yellow eyeball that floated where the cauldron had been began to roil and bubble as if in excitement for the arrival of two new victims. Its tentacles waved as if trying to attract their attention, yet neither Grimwold nor Valda seemed to notice it.

He searched for the disturbance Sharatar's body would make across the scenery, yet being unable to move his head limited his range. He could see nothing from this vantage, but thankfully Grimwold and Valda remained within his field of vision. It would be torment for the attack to come outside the edge of visibility.

Halfway across the field, both Grimwold and Valda sprang into action.

Grimwold whirled to his right, unshielded side, crouching behind his shield as he did. Lethos heard the arrow thud into wood but could not see it at this distance. He still could not see Sharatar, but apparently Grimwold had. Valda began to run straight for him, her shield up as if expecting more arrows.

With the trap sprung, Lethos had to aid Grimwold as best he could. He was about to dare the pain to flash a vision of the floating eye when a black tentacle fell across him.

Its touch was like the numbing sting of a jelly fish upon his soul. Where his body was held inert by the power of the wild stone, the caress of the tentacle sapped all of his will. A tremendous feeling of hopelessness washed over him, and he realized that to even attempt to help would only make everything worse. He would distract Grimwold and cause him to make an error that would kill him. He should do nothing. Think nothing. Just wait.

The tentacle wrapped around his neck as if to strangle him, but Lethos felt nothing from it. Instead he watched Valda running. He did not care much about her now. Who was she, anyway? She skirted the pile of bodies, frowning down on their prone forms, oblivious to the black tentacles of mist that extended to her. Her eyes locked with his and she pulled up short.

"Lethos, are you alive? Gods, you look dead." She lowered her sword and shield as she walked toward him, the tentacles dancing around her as if deciding what was the best way to pluck her up. The yellow eyeball rolled madly in the mist, looking everywhere as if it were overjoyed for choice.

He watched a tentacle lovingly coil around her waist. She stopped before the yellow eye which now glared down at her. Two more misty tentacles slithered around her legs. Her eyes were flat and unfocused and her sword fell from her grip. The shield on her arm slid forward as she released it. The tentacles gathered her near to the mass of the body.

Lethos thought he should be upset about this, yet it made no difference. All that lives is born to die. All that is flesh is made to rot. All that breathes will be silenced. There is only surrender.

Valda sat in the brown grass, staring into the distance as the smoky tentacles caressed her like a lover.

Now that she had moved aside, Lethos saw Grimwold with his sword drawn, clashing with something he could not see. He supposed it was the invisible Sharatar somehow rendered visible to Grimwold. The clang of swords was clear across the field. He saw sparks fly as blade dragged on blade. Grimwold flew back, holding his shield against an attacker Lethos could not see. He kicked up and struck back, and this time a spray of red flowed out of the air. It pumped like a severed artery, brilliant red blood jetting across the field with tremendous force. Yet it cut off, leaving a floating stain of red in the air that now danced around Grimwold.

Grimwold batted aside invisible strikes with his shield. He sliced back with his gore-slicked sword. He turned in time with the stain so that it never flanked him.

Lethos realized magical power was drifting off his body like steam from a hot rock. Grimwold barked indistinct commands, and each time Lethos felt the pull as a burst of warmth against the frigid cold. Whatever he was attempting frustrated Grimwold. Lethos felt that rage in his core, but he did not care. Grimwold too would eventually die. Why did he strive so hard to live?

He plowed forward with his shield, smashing something that gave a metallic thud, then punched out with the pommel of his sword. Grimwold followed something to the ground, leaping upon an invisible shape and slamming it with the edge of his shield over and over. The meaty thud echoed across the field. At last he stopped, heaved and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, then reached down and plucked something from the air.

In the next instant, Lethos saw a prone form pinned under Grimwold's body. Grimwold held his hand to Sharatar's neck, and once satisfied he stood and lifted the body over his shoulder. Despite wearing plate and mail armor, Grimwold was only off-put by the bulk. The weight of his bagged quarry was nothing to him.

He walked jauntily across the field to where Lethos sat. He frowned at Valda who remained in the grip of the mist creature. A dreamlike thought of warning Grimwold crossed Lethos's mind, but it popped like a bubble of sea foam.

With Sharatar slung awkwardly over his shoulder, Grimwold strode up to the black mist creature, its dozens of tentacles playing around him like a miser deciding which bauble of his collection to select. He never saw it.

A tentacle slipped around his neck and Grimwold went rigid. His eyes flattened out. He stood perhaps two dozen strides away from Lethos, but he no longer looked at him. Sharatar's body slipped to the ground, more tentacles sprouting from the immobile mass of mist that flitted down to caress the body.

Grimwold's sword dropped and stuck upright in the grass.

Lethos was frozen, numbed inside and out. Grimwold's capture was of no concern. All that is flesh withers. All that lives, lives only to serve Urdis. Grimwold would soon know as well as he did, there is no point in life.

Only surrender.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Lethos felt the stirring in his chest. It was like a fist pressing on his ribcage but no hand touched him. He was as frozen as ever, slouched against the wall of a building he could not see because he could do nothing more than blink and swallow. Valda sat opposite in the brown grass beneath the monstrous form of black mist that sprouted ethereal tentacles. These waved through the air like a demonic sea creature. Multiple tentacles held on to all of them.

The pressure in his chest came again. He noticed Grimwold was staring at him, his teeth clenched against the delicate arm of mist that coiled around his neck. At his feet the body of Sharatar lay in a heap. Lethos could not adjust his vision to see the body, but it seemed dead. Grimwold's sword stuck up from the grass beside him.

Was he trying to touch minds? Why not just surrender? There is nothing but submission, and Grimwold should know this.

Yet Grimwold took a step forward as if his leg were bound with a leaden weight. His booted foot crunched the dead grass as he stepped. Another tentacle floated over to Grimwold and laced around his arm.

The next step seemed more exerting than the last. Grimwold's eyes looked at another world, but he struggled in this one. Lethos wanted him to sit down. There was no need to suffer and strive like this. But he came on, another step landing heavier and firmer than before. His sword arm reached out and a tentacle gently pushed it down. As more tentacles wrapped about Grimwold, his progress stopped. He was now only an arm's length away. His clenched jaw relaxed and the deep lines in his face slackened. It seemed he would at last surrender as he always should have done. The yellow eye glared down at Grimwold as a dozen misty tentacles slithered along his body.

He pitched forward, breaking through the tentacles as if they did not exist. His hand reached out as he did, and his open palm landed on Lethos's chest. The fingers began to flex and search as if trying to crawl up to his face.

Lethos had nothing to say about any of it. If he could have moved, he would have set Grimwold back on the grass and had him relax. Instead Grimwold's hand whipped back and forth over Lethos's chest. His bare chest gave Grimwold no purchase, and his hand slid down as the tentacles shot all across his body. More grew from the eye beast, burying Grimwold in black mist as they lashed onto him.

Yet he would not stop. His hand shot back up to Lethos's face, grabbing at his mouth. It was unpleasant and hot against the numbing cold. His gritty, hard fingers dug into Lethos's flesh as it progressed up over his eyes. At last, he came to his forehead and Grimwold began to rub with all his strength.

The doors in his mind burst open, and he was greeted with a rush of terror, hopelessness, hate, and bloodlust. A myriad of images flooded him. The red and black slaves from the ark filled his vision, screaming in their desperate, hateful voices. The yellow eye glared into his, and Lethos saw a landscape from a nightmare reflected there. Craggy peaks filled with dark clouds and lightning. Screams echoing off the canyon walls while vast, winged shapes circled the hopeless sky.

Grimwold's hand continued to brush over his body even as he disappeared beneath a writhing mass of black mist. The torment Lethos experienced was Grimwold's. His mind was being assaulted with a thousand images of doom, yet he was not breaking.

And Lethos realized he could aid his friend.

He did not know what to do, but with the charm Avulash had written over his head now erased, the way to Grimwold's mind was open. He sent him images of victory, of him standing triumphant over the mist beast that tormented him. He spoke to him, You are stronger than mist. You are stronger than dust. Stand up and fight like a true son of Valahur.

It was lightning between them. The cold holding Lethos down retreated in the face of it. Grimwold's eyes, barely visible in the rippling mist that swallowed him, glowed with a fierceness that could frighten a dragon.

Grimwold screamed, his voice smothered beneath the mist, and his hand knocked aside the wild stone that stuck into Lethos's shoulder. He felt the shared stab of pain as Grimwold's hands touched it. It was like grabbing fire, however briefly. But then the numbing paralysis vanished and Lethos's mind was open. A single tentacle remained laced over his leg as an afterthought to the struggle Grimwold presented.

Now he knew what to do.

He sat up, moving for the first time in what must have been hours, his naked body cold against the late autumn air. He reveled this cold over the unnatural freezing of the wild stone. Nothing could compare to such a horror. He held Grimwold's eyes as he reached down into his own soul.