The Shattered Stair
Chapter 2
|
Jalhar cursed as the yellow rock column shielding him screamed and whined as the steady blast of heat from the
dragonnet slowly melted it into slag. The bad ones always went with fire or acid, it was like they were given a rule book at
hatching or something. Long and bloody years of experience kept him still behind the rippling stone even as his skin
began to blister under the bits of slag bursting out of the super-heated stone. He would not have to endure it long. As
soon as the young dragons realized they couldn't cook him out from cover, they would close in. To do that they would
have to abandon their safe perches in the heights. Not that any of the ill begotten spawn would ever be safe from him,
even if they hid on the moons.
A maniacal smile broke across his blistering lips as he anticipated the fight to come. It was all so predictable, the young
ones were not exactly known for patience. He could wait near forever as long as he got to kill the little bastards at the
end. The crack of sharp wings unfurling had him carefully drawing a sharp arrow from their insulated quiver. The
enchantments on the wood could only stand against the flames and acid for a few moments. A thrill of satisfaction set his
fingers to tingling as he fitted it to the spun mithril bow string and whirled away from the column. Firing in that frozen
moment between heartbeats, Jalhar tumbled across the ground, letting the motion carry him behind the broken wall to
his left even as the first dragon spawn crashed to the ground.
As the lurid glow faded from the hatchlings eyes, Jalhar indulged himself a little and spat on its smoking snout. “I’m going
to kill your whole damned family,” He rasped in the tongue of the beasts. “Take that knowledge with you to Hell.”
“Wyrmslayer! Murderer! Fiend!” An almost metallic scream of agony thundered across the heavens, shaking the stone
ruins like a gong. The ominous swoosh of great wings announced the approach of a truly gigantic creature. The fading
shrieks of the hatchlings told him they were retreating in the face of the greater beast.
“Oh, mommy is pissed.” He chuckled as he pulled a heavily runed silver bolt from his quiver and kissed its glittering barbs
. The wild excitement in his blood made it easy to ignore the sting of cracked and bleeding lips. “Don’t worry,” He
muttered to the now twitching corpse. “I brought something special just in case she decided to come play with us.”
A flash of warning had him shielding his eyes automatically as what was left of the roof evaporated with a crash of debris
and torrents of fire. Thick stones shimmered and wavered before whisping away like a pan of water on a hot day. More
rocks tumbled down as a head the size of a small cottage snaked through the bitter smoke with a viperous snarl of fury.
“I see you, child killer.” The beast announced in the voice of a landslide. A wave of eldritch power washed over him from
the very presence of the foul beast while it shouldered aside the crumbling and rotting stones. “Cowering behind that
wall will not save you, weakling. Come and face my wrath.”
“Who’s cowering, worm?” Jalhar shouted back, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel. “I guess you are so old, you
can’t see straight any more.” It was just how old the beast was that had his throat dry as a desert. The beast's red had
faded to the black of clotted and decaying blood and she was easily one of the largest of her kind he had ever seen. His
blood sang in his veins as he stepped away from the wall and stared down one who could of been the mother of his
nightmares.
These things were smart, his only change was to goad her into doing something stupid. Inspiration struck as the
notoriously vanity of the beast became another weapon in his arsenal. “I was just leaning against the wall trying not to
be sick, slug.” His feigned gag hid the motion of fitting that very special arrow. “You all are so very ugly, it is difficult for a
mortal man to take.”
A hiss of deadly venom escaped her at the insult, telling that insult hit home. Staring into the inferno of the beasts eyes,
Jalhar prayed for an opening. The arrow would have to take her there, assuming the contrary beast didn’t blink of
course. Her hide was likely too thick to penetrate anywhere else.
“Puny human!” Teeth the size of small trees gnashed in affronted pride, covering him with spittle that hissed and bit into
his armor. “Hundreds, thousands of your kind shall pay dearly for this insult.” Her eyes slitted shut as hurricane winds
swept around him in response to her dramatic inhalation. Apparently she was going to try and cook him.
A feather of warning brushed across his mind. “Jalhar, I hate to bother you during your camping trip.” Heavy sarcasm
leant an acrid taste to the wizard’s thoughts. “But you are needed back at the castle.”
Biting back his instinctive curse, Jalhar stood firm, his bow drawn and waiting. “I’m kind of busy right now, Grim.” He
warned as he waited for the beast’s eyes to open again.
“Get un-busy.” Grim’s tone became sharp. “I am pulling you here in 5... 4... 3... 2...”
“One.” Jalhar breathed as he released his arrow in that split second he had been waiting for. His smile grew as the
beast's bitter cry of death released the deadly firestorm brewing in its throat in a chaotic tumble. She crashed to the
broken floor of the ruin as he closed his eyes and waited for the burgeoning holocaust to embrace him.
Grim’s lips tightened as Jalhar appeared in a roil of flame and smoke that thoroughly obliterated his summoning circle. A
flick of his fingers sent one of the assistants running forward with the bowl of extinguishing foam. Long experience had
taught him that such things were a predictable requirement whenever Jalhar went on vacation. A rich laugh rippled out
from cracked and blistered lips as the foam turned to a silver powder light enough to float through that air. The foam
swirled and lifted from the bowl as it was drawn to the small fires flickering on Jalhar's armor and hair.
“Your timing is impeccable as usual, Grim.” He tried to sound relaxed as he ruthlessly suppressed the flash of rage that
came from the unwelcome interruption. Only the thought that the wizard had quite possibly saved his life kept him from
giving in to the fury that was simmering in his bones. “Now were you just snooping or is there a really a problem?”
“A little of both.” Grim’s eyes were unreadable slate as he stepped forward with a jar of healing unguent. “Dagger has
found hints of another massing of the Unclean.” Jalhar tensed as he caught the impressions of seething darkness and
blackest evil from Grim’s mind. “From what he can tell, they are more organized than they should be.”
The images leaking from Grim’s normally contained mind clued him in. “Your wife?” He asked gently, guessing how
painful the memories were for the man.
There was a curt nod. Grim’s mental touch became pure ice as he shut away all emotions, even the close tie of their
rings revealed nothing now. “I think it is possible, she is one of the few with the power to use the Unclean and force them
to cooperate without a war.”
Light hands slathered the gel across his lips as Jalhar tried to picture an evil being holding that much power. It was not a
pretty thought. Not able to move while the gel soaked into his flesh, he resorted to communicating through their rings.
“How many do you think she could control?” He hated the Unclean almost as much as he hated dragons, but they were
not half as much fun to kill.
“Hundreds.” Grim motioned the assistants out of the room. When they were gone, he rounded on Jalhar with flat, angry
eyes. “Now want to tell me why you were trying to kill yourself?” That deadly hiss of fury was more threatening than a
host of ogre's bellow.
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself, those hatchlings are getting ready to swarm.” Jalhar snapped back mentally, a dull flush of
anger coming to his cheeks as he quietly acknowledged he had been a bit foolhardy. “No village within a hundred miles
will be safe when they do.” It was hard not to think of how his village had looked after a similar swarm had finished with it.
“And getting yourself turned into slag won’t save any of them.” Grim retorted as he turned his attention to Jalhar’s
hands, carefully pulling off the enchanted finger guards that allowed him to use the mithril bowstring before doctoring
the blistered flesh around them.
Ignoring the small voice that reminded him it was never wise to argue with a wizard, Jalhar shook his head. “The armor is
made of one of the beast’s hides and you protected it against fire, remember?” Okay that protest sounded weak even in
his own mind.
“Great, everywhere you were covered might have been safe.” Grim drawled as he screwed the lid back on the jar. “I
guess that is a fair defense since you obviously don’t use your head for anything anyway.” He looked down at Jalhar’s
abused hands. “I would have thought you would be more careful with your fingers though.”
“Grim…” Jalhar rumbled in warning, not caring if it stung his rapidly healing lips. The wizard may have been the nominal
leader of their organization but he was getting dangerously close to going too far.
The wizard held up his hand for silence. “I know you are used to looking after yourself and it is hard to answer to others
after all this time, but you have to stop taking so many chances, Jalhar.” The there was an odd trace of wistfulness in
Grim’s voice. “I do not think that little Jal would survive losing his favorite uncle,” A slight flush covered the wizards
cheeks as he turned away and started fussing with some of the odd implements on the table. “It is already all I can do to
protect what is left of that boy’s childhood.”
Shock drained all of the anger from Jalhar as he stared in shock. He had never seen Grim even slightly discomfited
before, he would have taken an oath the man was incapable of such strong emotions. Everyone knew at least the basics
of Grim’s past and why he‘d formed the Ruby Lords. He’d had a son once, his wife had butchered the child before his
eyes. If he had been asked even an hour ago, Jalhar would have said the woman cut out Grim’s heart at the same time,
but now he knew better.
Grim’s shoulders hunched a little and Jalhar had the feeling he’d thought the last a little too loudly. He opened his mouth
to apologize, but wasn’t exactly sure what to say to the man he felt like he was really seeing for the first time.
It didn't matter, when the wizard turned to face him, his cold mask was firmly back in place. “Just go and patch yourself
up and rest. We will send you out first thing in the morning and you need to be ready, it is likely to be a long trip if
Dagger is right about the numbers.”
Knowing a dismissal when he heard it, Jalhar nodded and left the room, trying to ignore the cloud of ash that fell with
every step.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Almost a week had past since Rowan first crested the rise and it felt as if she had barely begun. The heat and haze of
the Grecian summer beat down upon her, sapping the energy from her bones and the speed from her steps. Luckily she
had planned for the lethargy that came hand in hand with the sultry Mediterranean summer. Thankfully no one came to
disturb her so her experiments progressed at a steady, if not rapid pace. The locals were much too busy with the
everyday efforts of living to worry about a crazy scientist sitting on top of the Hill of Birds, and tourists could not be
bothered to search out such a small and unimportant site.
With no one around Rowan didn’t have to pretend to be other than who she was—plain, simple and a bit touched by
most standards. When she was alone, she did not have to worry about being judged, about living up to someone’s
expectations, except her own. Unfortunately she was her own worst taskmaster, Rowan acknowledged with a grin. Which
explained what she was doing sitting on a mountain streaked in bird crap and sweat wearing only bicycle shorts and a
tank top. At least the bus driver wasn’t likely to hit on her again. Not with the way she smelled at the moment.
An odd tearing noise rent the air as she shoved the last of the materials into her pack. It was so wrong of a sound, her
teeth hurt in reaction. It was almost as if the world had ground its teeth while dozens of silk swatches were ripped in
sympathy. She would pay her entire trust fund to never hear the like again.
Rowan was still shuddering in horrified response when a huge man all but fell out of a glowing slash suspended a foot
above the ground. His body was absolutely coated in a vile looking slime she noted absently. While she was still trying to
convince herself that he was real when he staggered to his feet. Her breath caught as glanced around with cold eyes
that seemed to see everything and nothing at once.
Before she could say anything, he started sprinting across the mountain top as if the fires of hell were on his heels.
Instinctively, she assessed him as a threat and moved to protect herself. Rowan had been on too many remote digs to
trust anyone, but more alarming was the way the guy moved. The power and grace inherent in his motions proclaimed
this man was more dangerous than most and just never mind about that funny glowy thing he fell out of.
Rowan knew deep in her bones that she did not want to see what could make a that man run. He was tall, massively built
and even while running moved with the silence of a cat. Oddly, even though it was boiling on the plateau, he was
covered in supple black leather from head to toe that looked alarmingly like some sort of high tech armor. It had an
almost opalescent quality and shimmered with every stride.
What ever it was, it matched the man well the insane and hormonal part of her observed against her better judgement.
He had long, black hair which was gathered at the neck and it framed a face drawn in the harsh, predatory lines of a
warrior. The functional cape swirling in a sleek gray cloud behind him gathered the shadows and added an air of
mystery. Disturbingly, the slim lines and careful cut of the garment spoke of functionality not show. Just when she was
starting to wonder if it was some sort of joke, her gaze fell to the sprinting stranger’s waist; he was carrying two swords in
well worn scabbards. A chill ran down her spine as the look of it all sank in, this was no joke. Those swords told the tale,
the stranger wore them too well. Who ever he was, he moved with the weapons as if they were an extension of his body.
Rowan really wished the man was just a nut running around, but her good sense said otherwise. His leather armor was
wrong for any time period reenactments she had ever heard of and his swords did not quite look right either. Even
worse; the man’s intent expression held all the warmth of a raptor's gaze. Whatever was happening, it was deadly
serious.
Pushing her babbling thoughts aside, Rowan forced herself to pay attention to the one thing that mattered. The deadly
looking guy was running away from something. Whatever could make this strange man play rabbit was nothing she
wanted to face. Even worse, she could not pretend this was some sort of heat spawned delusion—even if he did look
like something from one of her better fantasies. It was time to leave as quickly and quietly as she could manage.
She made some sort of noise in spite of her resolve because the stranger stopped his flight mid-stride. He turned to
face her with the slow motions of a man trapped in a nightmare. His gaze burned through her, eyes the color of a
midnight sky probed and demanded answers almost as if her presence were an offense of some kind.
Not knowing what else to do, Rowan shrugged. The motion triggered a flood of expressions she was all too familiar with;
shock, disbelief, anger and resignation followed one after the other across his features. The despair that came last had
her putting up a warding hand, but it did no good. He was already moving towards her at a steady, determined pace. It
was obvious he had abandoned all hopes of flight.
Rowan glanced at the heavy pack at her feet with the bowl of dangerous powder beside it. The quest seemed so silly at
the moment. It felt as if a doom were closing in on her and she had wasted her last week distilling bird droppings. This
man had come out of the air, she could not fool herself into thinking he was here to either rob her or do anything else.
Whatever was happening, his eyes held his own death.
If only if he had waited to pop in a few moments later, she would have been on her way down the trail none the wiser.
She had a feeling they both would have been happier that way but it was not to be. Unfortunately, there was nothing
laying around to shield her from a blow, or even use as a weapon.
Cursing silently, Rowan rolled to the balls of her feet and waited for what was to come. If his intentions were not
honorable, at least she had some hope of slowing him down enough to run if not outright disabling the guy.
At her small, almost invisible motions a flicker of recognition and approval crossed the stranger’s features. So he was
familiar with unarmed defense, she thought with thinning lips, it was not a comfortable thought.
As if reading her mind, the man’s hands came up palms out in an obvious gesture of peace. Although he still
approached, it looked as if he was trying to soften his fierce expression—with little result. The faint silver of old scars
streaked across his cheeks like tracings of war paint and the line of a cut across his lip gave it a sinister twist. She
doubted this man could look peaceful or welcoming—he radiated the menace of a drawn blade as easily as he breathed.
Unwilling to relax her stance, Rowan motioned for him to approach in spite of the screams of warning going off in her
head. It all became irrelevant as another rending tear curdled the air. The man’s reaction was as violent as it was
riveting. His cautious approach was abandoned as he moved in swift strides to close the gap between them. Her heart
clawed to her throat when his face fell into a harsh mask of anger. Just as she was preparing to strike in self defense the
stranger spun around; giving her his back as he faced a luridly glowing tear pulsing in the air on the other side of the
plateau.
While she gaped in shock, he drew a mottled gray sword in a fluid motion. A pulsing flash of sickening red drew Rowan’s
attention away from the sword and tore a moan of horror from her lips. There was a beast oozing out of the ragged
slash in the air, it was a nightmare beyond her worst imaginings. The entire creature; which had far too many hands and
no discernible feet, was covered in an unwholesome slime.
For a moment she wondered if the blighted face alone would take her teetering sanity. When the heaving flesh touched
the mountain top, the arid soil shuddered and hissed in blatant rejection. It felt as if the earth itself was retching in
horror. Bile crawled in the back of her throat as her gaze was drawn to the bloody ribbon of air behind the monstrosity. It
was not alone, another creature was oozing out of the air.
The man in front of her backed up, coming ever closer, but she had no doubts what the real threat was. The leather
clad warrior was making small motions with his hand, urging her to run with every flick of his fingers. Although her soul
ached to follow his silent advise, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The thought of those creatures following behind her
while she tried to make her way down the trail was enough to make her hold her ground. It might not be reasonable, but
there you go. He was coming with her or they were both going to fight.
Swinging her pack onto her back, Rowan stood ready behind the stranger. If they were going to run, they would need
what she had in her pack. A faint slightly maniacal smile touched her lips, there were some advantages to having a
collection of caustic chemicals after all. All humor fled as a third creature emerged from the crack, onto the now roiling
soil. She was beginning to wonder if all the chemicals in the world would make a difference.
Sparing her a glance, the man frowned in displeasure when he saw her still standing behind him, but it was his eyes that
gave her pause. She had seen it only once before in her life, and had prayed long and hard to never see it again.
Rowan’s hand moved of its own volition to reach for him, her curled around the shocking heat of his arm as if to anchor
him to her side. She had seen that face one too many times already; it was the face of a man going to his death.
He froze and looked back in question, his face an almost expressionless mask.
“Wait,” she breathed hoping that he understood the intent, if not the words. She clenched her hand on his arm, letting
her fingers carry the message. Even through the thick, hard material she could feel his muscles tremble with the
eagerness of a wolfhound held from the hunt. “Let me do something first.” She whispered hoping he would at least
understand the tone.
Turning her gaze to the creatures, Rowan quickly reviewed her options. The glowing aperture had closed, trapping the
creatures on the mountain with them. Sunlight glanced off of them, revealing a strange coating of slime that gave her
hope. Glancing down at the fine powder at her feet she offered a prayer to the heavens that it would work. It didn’t
matter that the powder was all she had to show for a week of work. Living was more important than a childhood
obsession.
The sickening glitter of their skin drew Rowan’s eyes to the almost invisible coating on their skin. They looked soaking
wet. She breathed a small prayer of thanks as the plan solidified in her mind. They had a chance anyway as long as the
beasts were covered in something other than oil. But would it be fast enough?
Her mind rushed furiously through the probable reactions. Although she had coated the refined phosphorous to keep it
from reacting in the humid air, the coating would dissolve in most liquids. The newly bared chemical would burn in air or
water with the slightest hint of moisture. It might be enough to buy them some time or even, perhaps, kill the creatures. It
worked in the legends anyway.
A jerk beneath her hand brought her wandering attention back to the creatures’ approach. They were gliding forward at
an astonishing speed, leaving the ground behind them blackened and pitted. The man looked at her in obvious
question, his muscles shifting restlessly beneath her palm as if her hand was a restraining leash. She raised a finger
begging for a moment more, hoping he would understand the gesture as she stooped to pick up the massive bowl of
powder. It would take both her hands to lift it.
With the bowl firmly in her grip, she released the stranger and moved to stand in front of him. It was chancy enough to
be throwing the heavy powder into the air; she was just going to have to hope the momentum would carry it away from
them.
A growled denial escaped his lips as she moved to stand in front of him. Rowan was only able to come to his side before
the strangers firm but gentle restraint forced her to stop. He glanced at the powder in her bowl and back at the
creatures advancing on them swiftly, and shaking his head in obvious disbelief. Hoping he could read the answer in her
eyes, she nodded firmly and counted aloud, hoping the sound of the measured words would soothe him. On seven it
was time to throw.
Balancing her stance, Rowan slung the powder from the bowl with a muttered prayer and jumped back. The pearly-gray
cloud puffed out in a deadly shimmer and drifted down to cover the oblivious slimy apparitions. It took only a moment to
drop the useless bowl and pull the stranger back. It was important they retreat as quickly as possible. The remnants of
powder in the air would burn through the moisture in their lungs as fast as the slime covering the creatures. She did not
want to risk a fickle wind spreading any of it back towards them.
When she dared to look back, she let out a long, relieved breath. The creatures looked like slugs soaked in salt. Their
flesh bubbling and sloughing off under the pressure of the air and puddled at their… stubs?. Unfortunately, it did not
look like it was going to be enough to kill them, even if it held them partially welded to the earth and blind. The terrible
eyes and faces were melted slag—a threat to no one. Taking a deep breath, she turned to the trail perhaps now they
could run.
The stranger grunted his approval but did not release her. An eerily familiar tearing erupted in the air just behind them
as the melted nightmares surged forward once more, moving toward the sound. A velvet blackness studded with a billion
stars danced on the periphery of her vision. The stranger gestured toward the creeping nightmares and shrugged. He
stepped into the blackness, and with a jerk on her arm, pulled her after him.