Venom and Song (66 page)

Brynn clutched the Guardmaster's shoulder and leaned heavily on him. Her left arm hung limp at her side. “The spider's poison is spreading, I fear,” she said.

“Don't you think about that,” he replied. “I'm certain Claris will have for that. Now, come on.”

Brynn wasn't fit to fight, but Grimwarden and his trusty siege axe were more than enough to dispatch the enemies they met along the way. They made their way around the left side of the trunk, leaving piles of spider corpses in their wake. Halfway through the enclosed section, Grimwarden smelled smoke. They emerged on the deck area of the flet and found blackened, burning husks of Warspiders strewn in every direction. Fire crawled in patches like living beasts slowly consuming the wood of the flet. “It would seem that young Lord Albriand has been busy.”

“Grimwarden, there you are,” said Claris, appearing suddenly from the right side of the tree. “I smelled the smoke and feared for your life.”

“It was right for you to fear,” he replied, “but not on my account.” He stopped.

“Where's Sperowynn and Mumthers?” Claris looked behind them. More spiders were closing in.

“Never mind,” Grimwarden called her attention back. “There's no time. Brynn has taken a venomous bite. See here, her forearm.” He held up Brynn's arm. An open wound gaped with black and weeping puss.

“The poison is moving quickly,” said Claris, hurriedly unclasping a pouch from her belt. “This is gorc root.” She held up a gnarled thumb-sized piece and began to peel thin slices from the side. “Look away, Brynn. This is going to hurt.”

Brynn closed her eyes, knowing Claris never exaggerated.

Claris took one slice after the other and pushed them like splinters into the wound. Brynn cried out, but Claris did not stop. They had to go in deep. “Done!” she said.

“Ellos grant you healing,” said Grimwarden. “We need to go now. If these flames reach the chute line, we'll be trapped.”

“Where are the others?” asked Brynn.

Claris shook her head.

Grimwarden sniffed the air and turned away. “Brynn, can you stand?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I think so.”

“Good,” he said. Dodging dead spiders and pockets of fire, he went to the open chest. “These harnesses are no good!” The others looked to him, shock mounting. “Fire has already gotten to them.”

“Then we need other means,” said Claris. She unfastened her belt, flung it over the chute line, and wound the ends of the leather around her hands. “I trust you can support Brynn?” she asked.

“Of course,” Grimwarden replied.

“Then, I will see you at the bottom.” With the graceful and fluid movements of an athlete, Claris leaped off the edge of the flet and began her long journey down the chute line.

Screee!!

“More spiders,” muttered Grimwarden. He removed his belt and wrapped one end around his hand, throwing the opposite end over the chute line. “Brynn, how's that arm?” He bound his other hand, then looked back to her. She looked much weaker than before. “Never mind. Climb on my back.”

She managed a smile and swung her good arm around the Guardmaster's neck. “If we survive this”—her voice was faint—“we'll have quite the tale to tell.”

Screee! Screee!
Packs of Warspiders streamed around both sides of the tree.

“That's a big
if
,” Grimwarden said. “Hold on tight.”

Grimwarden leaped off the edge just as the platform behind them filed with Warspiders. A few overeager arachnids leaped after the pair but met nothing but air. Grimwarden and Brynn picked up immense speed, the leather strap smoking over their heads.

“Grimwarden!” Brynn yelled in his ear. Her arm was slipping. Panic seized Grimwarden's chest, not an emotion he was easily given to—but with both of his hands bound in leather, undoing either one meant plunging to their deaths . . . and that was
if
he even could manage to release his hands from the bondage. But he had to try.

“Hold on, Brynn!”

“I—I'm slipping!”

“I said hold on!” He felt utterly helpless. He grabbed the line on the left with his right hand. Then put all of their combined weight on his right arm.

Brynn's arm slipped, only her hand clutching Grimwarden's collar.
No!
he thought. “Hold on! Please!”

“Endurance and Victory,” she whispered.

He pulled his left hand free of the leather just as Brynn's grip let loose. He reached for her, but his hand met air.

Grimwarden looked down, Brynn's screaming face staring up at him. Desperate. Hopeless. He sped away from her, dangling helplessly by one arm, left hand extended toward her.

BONUS SCENE
20
Puddle Jumping

Authors' Notes:
Did you wonder how Nelly and Regis got through the enemy camp and what happened when they first arrived back on our planet? We wrote many exciting adventures for them in Berinfell and on Earth; one follows below.

NELLY AND Regis had observed the Vesper Crag portal for hours, watching for a pattern or a lull in the army's activity when they might sneak past the enemy and through the portal. It had not been easy. The portal itself was at the bottom of a canyon in the largest mountain just south of the main fortress. All the roads and paths in the area had been crawling with Gwar sentries and Drefid overseers, so Nelly and Regis had been forced to scale two-hundred feet of sheer rock to avoid being seen. Still, they had scoped out a near perfect position in a shadowy cleft thirty-feet up from the portal.

They watched an almost constant stream of Warspiders, soldiers, and supply caravans travel through the largest portal they had ever seen. The minions of the Spider King wore no armor and carried no weaponry save for crates and contraptions made of wood and stone. At last the activity halted. “The last Gwar went through almost an hour ago. It's now or never, Nelly,” said Regis.

“Agreed,” said Nelly. “Stash your forged weapons under this brush for our return. They'll slow us down, and metal won't go through.”

Regis removed two long fighting knives from slim leather sheaths on her thighs. “I'm going to miss these,” she said.

“Well,” said Nelly, “hopefully we'll find something to replace them over there.”

“You ever wonder,” said Regis, “what would happen if some of the enemy were coming back through the portal as we were going in?”

“That is not a comforting thought, Regis.”

They'd met no one inside the portal, but it spat out the two Elves perilously close to an approaching squad of Gwar soldiers. Disoriented and breathless, Nelly and Regis had just enough wit to throw themselves off the path and into the lush ferns to their right. What they hadn't counted on was that the ferns were growing on a steep hillside. The two Elves careened down, tumbling over a carpet of dead leaves, mashing ferns, and breaking small shrubs. Regis landed on a half-rotted log that was still hard enough to bludgeon her back like a club. On one revolution, Nelly's heel smacked into a thick elm tree. Despite the pain, neither Elf cried out.

They cartwheeled another twenty yards before going airborne and landing in a coursing stream. Regis came up from the water first, flinging sodden cords of black hair out of her face and gasping for air. “Huh-whoa! COLD!” she spluttered.

Nelly shot up next and bobbed like a cork in the current. “Wuh-where on Earth are we?”

“The arctic maybe?” Regis suggested.

The water carried the two Elves swiftly along, and they tried to get their bearings. The stream had been cut into the heart of a tall evergreen forest. Its banks were high and made of a myriad of gray stone shelves. “It's not going to be easy to get out.” Nelly wheeled her arms to turn the direction the current was sweeping them.

A few moments of swimming for the shore resulted in little progress, and the stream was picking up speed and flattening out.

Regis pointed ahead. “Oh no! Look!”

But it was too late. The two Elves plummeted over the edge of a twelve-foot waterfall. Under they went, churning in the tumult and holding what little breath they could. They popped up moments later, struggling to keep water out of their lungs as they gulped air between blasts of spray. The frigid water moved around them, great humps of slate gray, dark green, and deep blue. Faster and faster they raced along, catching glimpses of an ashen sky between heavy pine branches.

“Regis!” Nelly thought she saw her friend go underwater. “REGIS!”

“I-I-I'm okay,” she called back weakly. “Sleepy . . . I feel heavy.”

Nelly felt it too . . . a surging numbness, a leaden sensation crawling up her limbs.
Hypothermia! NO. I will not die here.

Nelly began to swim. “Kick your legs, Reege!” she spluttered.

“Try . . . ing . . . to,” she said. “Can't.” Regis slipped below the surface.

Due to her stiffening muscles, Nelly's strokes were uncoordinated and slower than usual. She arrived a moment too late. There was a small whorl in the water amid the swells. Nelly stabbed her arms into the water, driving them as deep as she could, and felt around. It was no good. She'd have to go underwater. Swallowing as much wind as her pained lungs would allow, she dove beneath the surface. The icy water bit into the flesh of her cheeks. A crushing headache exploded to life. She fought for consciousness and flailed in the current.
HAIR!
Nelly's hand brushed into a nest of it. She grabbed and tugged with all her might. Deadweight and the current fought back.

I've got you!
Both hands on the hair and kicking madly with her feet, she rose. With one final effort, Nelly heaved Regis to the surface. Beneath a soaked mop of black hair, Regis's skin was blue. “NO, you don't!” Nelly cried, leaning back to keep as much of Regis out of the water as possible.

“Ow!” Something hard slammed into the back of Nelly's head. She actually saw stars for a moment, but realizing what she'd struck, she reached up. Her hand found the massive bough of a fallen tree. With herculean effort, she maneuvered Regis along the tree until she reached the shallow water by the bank. Once up on solid ground, Nelly pounded repeatedly on Regis's chest. “Come on, Re—”

“Stop . . . stop hitting me,” Regis gurgled. Her eyes fluttered open. “I was having a terrible dream. It was winter in Allyra . . . the dark winter. Still f-f-feels so cold.”

“You're still cold because the cool air has met your wet skin. Come on, into this thicket with you.” Nelly dragged her friend into a clumpy thatch of shrubs beneath a stout gray tree. Shivering herself, she began to bury her friend under dead leaves and branches. “It's not much,” she said, “but better than nothing.”

“Smells . . . good,” said Regis dreamily. “A good woodsy smell. Reminds me of Ardfern.”

“Where?”

“Ardfern . . . back in Scotland.” She grinned wide and rose up on her elbows. “It was damp, cold, and gray . . . but I loved it there.”

“Well, maybe you'll go back one day,” said Nelly, peering through the shrubs. “Now, if we can only figure out where we are. Won't be easy. It'll be dark soon. Feels like we're somewhere north. Not the arctic. Not Alaska or Greenland. It's not that kind of cold.”

“Not that kind of—! Feels plenty cold to me.”

“The water in that stream is very cold,” said Nelly. “But look around. There's no snow. Some things are still green. This country feels like it's on the edge of winter, but not in its teeth just yet.”

Regis sat up and began to stand. “Wait,” said Nelly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Regis replied. “Much better now. And I know we've got to keep moving.”

Nelly helped her friend up. “That is true. Every minute we linger in this world . . . ,” she paused and the two women exchanged knowing glances. The fate of Allyra was in their hands.