“No,” Uthalion growled, his lip quivering in anger. “You’re just a body. Just the remains of the man I knew.”
“Shall you bury me, Captain?” Khault said, crawling closer, his thin legs followed by a mane of tentacles growing from his back. Uthalion could see where scabrous, toughened skin grew in patches on his arms and neck. Long spines, nearly translucent and needle-sharp, protruded in rows from his jawline, giving him the look of something. dredged from the darkest depths of a forgotten ocean where there was no need for the eyes he had scratched from his skull. “Would you drag me to Caidris and lay me down beside my wife?”
“You don’t understand,” Uthalion said, taking a step forward and motioning for Vaasurri to flank. “I don’t care what happens to you now… as long as it hurts.”.
Uthalion charged, slashing at Khault’s arms. The twisted man rolled backward, rearing high as whiplike tentacles grabbed at Uthalion’s legs. Thev laced around his boots. tugging him off balance and laying him flat on his back. He hit the ground with a grunt as Khault bent low, his claws reaching for Uthalion’s face. But he kept his sword moving, slicing into the hands that sought to smother him. Khault howled in pain and skittered backward, releasing Uthalion’s legs as Vaasurri joined the struggle.
The killoren was quick, but his blade cut only ragged wounds that seemed to have no effect. Uthalion rolled to his feet just as Vaasurri was batted away, sliding through the mist-grass. Khault towered over him, hissing through his teeth and spreading his arms wide as if welcoming the steel that sought to pierce him. Uthalion took the opening and thrust at Khault’s stomach, too angry to worry about himself or draw the fight on any longer. The tip of the blade slid on the tough, slick skin, scraping a gouge that bled a thick, clear fluid.
Tentacles shot forward beneath Uthalion’s blade, punching him in the gut and staggering him backward as Khault knelt low and unleashed his terrible voice. Pure sound slammed into Uthalion like an invisible wall, hurling him to the edge of the sirine’s cavern. The back of his head pounded with pain, and stars filled his eyes as he gasped for breath.
“You pained my Choir, Captain, and have spurned our blessings,” Khault purred at the end of his thunderous attack. He slid sinuously through the mist-grass. “Again you bring suffering to those I cherish.”
“You left me little choice,” Uthalion spat, tasting blood from his lip as his hand fumbled through the mist-grass, searching for his dropped sword and trying to stall for time. “Besides, you still don’t seem to understand… I don’t care.”
Vaasurri’s curving bone-blade bit deep into Khault’s shoulder, producing yet another howl of pain. The killoren grasped at the lashing tentacles, and the pair fell away in a blur, tumbling through the mist-grass as Uthalion rolled to his knees. Darkness clouded his vision for a moment. His hand closed on the cool metal of his sword, and he tried not to let relief and dizziness lay him back down.
Twin voices whispered from the pit before him, echoing through the rock, one nearly indistinguishable from the other. The words were lost, and he tried not to hear, leaving Ghaelya to her task, her decision. He hoped she would make the right one. And if not, he hoped he would live long enough to make the decision for her.
He stumbled on his feet, finding his balance and feeling a warm, steady drip of wetness on the back of his neck. Lost for a moment and staring at the ground in confusion, he fought the urge to shake his head. Breathing deeply, he faced the blurred forms of Khault and Vaasurri, just as the killoren’s body was hurled past him. Uthalion slashed into the first tentacle that reached for him, but could not move fast enough to stop the next.
Tiny teeth bit into his armor as the tentacles bore him down, holding him in a vicelike grip that brought stars to his eyes. The crystal spires reached for the moon overhead as he groaned and tried to sit up, to fight the pressure that held him down. Khault crawled closer, leaning over him and staring at the cavern mouth.
“You struggle in vain, Captain,” Khault said. Long streams of wildflower-smelling spittle and blood dribbled between his teeth. “The twins embrace even now.”
Uthalion fought the nauseating dark that trembled at the edges of his sight. His arms felt like leaden weights, his sword just an immovable length of steel. He kicked and pushed against the ground to no avail. And as he turned his face away from Khault’s hot breath, he caught sight of irregular ripples flowing through the mist-grass, and beyond, the dreamers’ glassy eyes had turned to the north.
“The flesh is weak, Captain,” Khault muttered. “It bends to the will of the Song and cannot stand when the Lady calls.”
A droning growl emanated from the spires, and Khault turned, hissing as the dreamers prowled to the south, their flashing stares fixed upon him. The immense weight of Khault lifted from Uthalion’s chest, and he coughed, fighting for air as the tentacles slid away. He staggered to his feet as Khault snarled at the seemingly defiant beasts among the spires. Behind him, lurching quietly from the north, a shadow fell upon the mist-grass.
“I’m still standing,” Uthalion grumbled hoarsely, spitting up blood and wavering on his feet. His sword dragged weakly through the grass, the smoky tendrils lapping at the blade. “I suppose you’ve forgotten just how strong flesh can be.”
Khault stalked forward, his clawed hands twitching and the tentacles sliding through the mist-grass like a low tide. The dreamers stilled their growling and anxious pacing, lowering their heads as a piercing note keened loudly through the clearing. Khault’s body tensed, his back arched in pain, and blood streamed from what remained of his ears. A sword ripped through his chest and tore at his pale skin like a knife through paper.
Uthalion stumbled, his sword falling from his hand as he spied the bloodied face of Brindani at Khault’s back. Deafening roars shook the clearing, rippling outward in waves from the struggling pair as they fell back in a tangle of blood, steel, and thrashing flesh. Khault screamed in denial of the blade that worked its way through him. Uthalion tried not to see the details of the half-elfs injuriesthe limp broken arm, the hideous wound across his stomach, or the exposed section of scalp over his right eyebut his eye was quicker than his good judgment.
Uthalion fell to his knees, his hands clasped to the sides of his head as the ground quaked and the air hummed. The’endless song embraced him through it all, caressing his tired limbs with a soothing melody, a silken thread of beguiling voices amid the chaos and blood. He glanced down into the cavern, and the flickering shadows of nightmare clawed at his ability to resist as he fell forward and crawled to its edge.
Howls carried softly down through the cavern, an uncanny compliment to the song as the dreamers raised their voices in either sorrow or exultation, Ghaelya wasn’t sure. Tessaeril shivered on the rocks, weak and almost frantic with barely hidden impatience, her blue-black eyes fixed on the sword at Ghaelya’s side.
The dreamers were here first… They despise the Choir… and rejoice that one of them has fallen…
The words were quiet and muttering, absent thoughts drifting through the song as Tessaeril reached out tentatively, her fingertips crawling toward the sheathed blade then drawing back. She shuddered and twisted her bound torso, her eyes pleading for release.
“Does it hurt?” Ghaelya asked as she let her hand slip to the sword at her belt, feeling the rough surface of its leather-wrapped handle and pulling clear the fastening loop of the sheath.
No… not anymore… There is no sleep here… not for me… Her dreams are all I have, all I see… endlessly… The sword…
Ghaelya’s body was numb, moving slowly and almost of its own accord, distant and mechanical. A handspan of blade cleared the sheath, and Tessaeril looked upon its edge almost hungrily, her lip quivering at the sight of a promised freedom from the sirine.