The attack came swiftly after Wesson and Nanessy dropped the ward. Dozens of dark shadows shifted in the moonlight, their claws and fangs glinting brightly as they attacked. Wesson released a stream of flame at the front line, and then Nanessy followed it with a trail of water she had wrestled from the stream. When the water met the fire, it turned to boiling steam that cooked and blinded their attackers. The two mages tossed fireballs and caused rocks to explode in the densest gatherings, but the vuroles were fast and agile. They appeared as a mix between a wolf and a large cat with black and grey fur and sharp fangs that extended below their lower jaws. Moving with feline agility, they blended with the dark rocks around the party until ready to pounce. They attacked in numbers with several creatures jumping on a single person.
Malcius crashed into Frisha as a vurole jumped at him. He was trapped beneath the beast, and Frisha beneath him. Suddenly, Lus appeared above the creature. He drove his sword down through the back of the creature’s skull. Frisha screamed as the combined weight of Malcius and the massive creature threatened to crush her. Lus shoved the monster off them and then leapt over their heads to fend off another. Yserria reached down and grabbed Malcius, helping him to his feet.
She said, “Stop lying around, you lazy oaf.” She raised her sword to slash the abdomen of a leaping vurole, and Malcius ducked beneath her to score a second across its face. Then, Brandt charged in from the other side to stab it through the ribs.
“If I were lying around, it would not be with one of these things,” said Malcius.
“I have seen you lay with worse,” said Brandt.
“I told you to stop fantasizing about me,” said Malcius.
“Look!” said Yserria, pointing to a shelf where several vuroles were gathered, ready to pounce en masse.
Wesson shoved his way between them and thrust his hands forward as he released a spell that streaked through the air like lightning. It struck the base of the shelf, sending vibrations through the rocks, causing them to fracture. The shelf broke away from the cliff, the back side dropping first so that the front collapsed on top of the creatures.
Malcius said, “I am glad you have a steady countenance, Journeyman,”
Wesson did not reply but rushed away to lob fireballs at several more creatures.
Shezar leaned over Malcius as he stabbed a vurole through the eye. “You should take a lesson from him and learn some control.”
Malcius leapt forward when he saw Brandt go down. One of the vuroles raked its massive claws across Brandt’s torso. His screams seemed to excite the beast to a frenzy. Malcius lopped off its tail and then its jaw when it turned on him. By the time the battle was over, everyone had suffered deep punctures and lacerations from teeth and claws—everyone except Frisha, who was curled beneath a small, personal ward that Wesson somehow maintained while also engaging the beasts. While Reaylin did not overtly complain about performing her duties as healer, her voice still held an edge as she politely asked people to hold still. Brandt’s injuries were by far the worst, and Reaylin was fairly drained by the time she had finished with everyone.
“Why were there so many?” Malcius said as he attempted to tie the tattered pieces of his tunic to cover himself.
Wesson took a long gulp from his water skin and said, “They are believed to be vimaral creatures—a hybrid species created by mages long ago. Vuroles live in small packs in the desert. They will attack a lone man but usually avoid groups. Vimaral creatures are often attracted to vimara, though, so they were probably drawn here in number by the ward we were using to protect ourselves from the Adana’Ro.”
A heavy rumbling reached their ears, echoing through the canyon from an unknown distance. Rezkin turned his gaze to the stars. Those directly overhead were now obscured by a filmy haze, the more distant lights having disappeared. In that empty darkness, the black silhouette of clouds appeared and disappeared as light crackled within them. He sighed and turned to his companions.
“No sleep is to be had tonight. We must vacate this canyon before we are washed away.”
Despite the protests of his companions, he grabbed his pack and began the hazardous walk in the dark. Nanessy set tiny, floating sparks like fireflies hovering over the trail to light their way while Wesson set a weak ward to trail them, claiming it would at least prevent a stray vurole from pouncing on his back.
“But it isn’t raining yet,” Reaylin said as she crunched and stumbled over the scree.
“Not here,” Shezar said, “but it is out there on the higher ground. The rain will fall afar and flood through the canyon in a torrent.”
Reaylin said, “I hate Ferélle.”
Malcius snagged his pant leg on a horrid, spindly plant with thorns longer than his thumbnail. He hissed as one of the spikes dug into his calf. “For once, you and I are in agreement.”
Chapter 9
The trip to Kielen, the capital of Lon Lerésh, was not much better than their previous voyage. The autumn storms were terrible, and the Bay of Bourdony was particularly choppy as it was stirred by inundations from its multiple tributaries. The rain had waned for a short time as the ship approached port, and the travelers could see, even in the gloom of the overcast sky, that Kielen was a rich city, awash in vibrant colors. Unusually tall buildings sometimes reached five or six stories, as if they were competing to touch the stars. They were painted in brilliant crimson, indigo, and purple, and every sill, frame, and ledge of even the smallest hovel appeared gilded. Most of the windows had no glass, and the shutters were left open to the cool sea breeze. In these open portals, colorful, sheer curtains pranced on drafts over streets and alleys, and beside them, vines clung to the fa?ade from rooftop gardens overgrown with flowering plants and trees.
The Gendishen often claimed that Lon Lerésh had intentionally appropriated everything garish to spite their neighbors, but the Leréshi philosophy was to express passion in every aspect of life, from art and décor to business and war. The docks were no different. Every worker wore a uniform to indicate his or her position, and the ground was marked in colored paint to indicate the appropriate paths for the movement of people, goods, and animals. While most ports tended toward organized chaos, the Leréshi ports had a militaristic order that Rezkin could appreciate.
He turned from the view and entered the cabin where Yserria, Reaylin, Mage Threll, and Wesson were waiting. Malcius stood by the door watching for the signals. Rezkin collected a small box from one of his trunks, removed its contents, and then stopped in front of Yserria. He held the item up for her to inspection. “You will wear this,” he said.
The sunlight streaming through the porthole glinted off a gold and silver torque. Yserria’s eyes widened as her gaze traced the brilliant gold setting that wrapped around a massive tourmaline. On either side of the central stone were smaller sapphires and amethysts. “It-it’s beautiful,” she said.
As he fastened it around her neck, Rezkin said, “It once belonged to Matrianera Gereldina. It is considered to be a famous work of art, both for its beauty and the story it holds. I stole it from the Adana’Ro. It is now yours.”
“What?” Yserria blurted. “Why would you give me something stolen from the Adana’Ro?”