Drothiker

28.

   
   
Azryle's insides throbbed, bled.

For moments and moments, there was only earsplitting ringing in his ears, agonized pulses at his temple roaring in his flesh, his sight shadowy.

It was like being underwater, and being conscious as some aquakin feasted on his insides. What sort of mejest had the sorceress used—

He invoked all his mejest on the healing.

Through the vague vision, he caught Alpenstride's tight grip on the daggers he'd dealt her, but her hands were held behind—no baeselk assailed her. Azryle could see them all like a watery shape in the air, lingering in each inch of the cave, could feel their hunger in his skin as they leered at the Grestel.

Slowly, Azryle's vision grew clearer, and he noticed Alpenstride was guarding him. She knew they wouldn't harm her—these baeselk. Or the sorceress.

Rainfang clicked her tongue. "How effortlessly he fell," she drawled. "So the rumors hadn't spoken true about the Azryle Wintershade."

Alpenstride remained silent, maintaining her human instincts on the surroundings than talking. There was no fear in her, being amidst the monsters with nothing but two daggers in her hands. And despite the tight grip on the daggers, she feigned calmness impeccably. There was not an ounce of uncertainty on her face.

Greone was in his shirt's pocket—the one Syrene was wearing, Azryle could do nothing but believe Vendrik would notice their absence and approach to the human's aid.

Or hope that his insides would begin healing soon.

"You look better than I'd seen you previously," Rainfang was saying, "the ripper did good work with his task, I have to say."

Alpenstride batted her lashes. "I've always been this beautiful, Deisn, don't credit a man for it now."

The sorceress chuckled. "Five years in Jegvr didn't take away that smugness, I see." She added, "I always hated it."

Syrene winked. "All the more reasons never relinquish it." She made a good show of picking at her nails. "Although, I'll let you know when I begin giving a care about your opinions."

Azryle was still processing this new face of Alpenstride when he heard a baeselk dashing for her from behind them.

Alpenstride moved fast.

As if seeing the attack, she ducked first, taking a hold of its arm. When it was behind her, she cruelly elbowed it with her free arm. The baeselk began shrieking and stumbled back—Syrene made the most of it and whirled.

The beast darted for her again, and met face-first with her dagger's blade. She carved up its skin, Azryle heard the rip as she tore its flesh open.

Green blood on her weapon was what featured first, before the invisible drape fell and a hideous wingless baeselk was divulged. Its insides met the ground prior to its massive figure.

Azryle was stunned enough that he stopped feeling the anguish in himself for a moment. When he looked at Alpenstride, there was panic in her eyes—but she concealed it with mastery and scowled down at the revolting green liquid marring her hand, Azryle was still not used to the stench of it.

"Deisn," Alpenstride crooned, still gazing down at the blood, "it reeks almost as much as your breath does when you speak."

It took the sorceress a moment to reply, to register what'd occurred. "Well, at least you said almost."