Drothiker

32.

Azryle moved.

His insides healed rather quicker than he'd predicted. He gripped Silencer and ripped the baeselk on his way to Alpenstride—who was chucked to other corner of the cave by these beasts—one after another fell to his feet, as Azryle whirled and slashed.

The cave crammed with shrieks and cries, pierced in his ears like thinnest needles. He'd never dealt with so many at once—five altogether at most. These, though, they were more than twenty.

Azryle's arm was bleeding, which just made them even more hysterical. Ripper, ripper, ripper, they hissed and lunged for him from everywhere, each one enormous enough that it he could feel them towering over him. Each one profane and powerful enough that there was belligerent itching in his skin.

His bare torso was marred with green, gluey liquid, just as his arms and Silencer—the whole cave stank of it.

If only he could reach Alpenstride, and his greone in his pocket's shirt, it wouldn't take long for Vendrik to locate them and reach here—greone could send Azryle's location. Vendrik could burn them all with his fire, it would take mere minutes. But alone ...

Alpenstride was dying, he could feel it in himself—in his mind. When he'd gone into her nightmares and snapped her to life, twice, his mejest seemed to have linked their minds—he could feel her dying as if it were his life being sucked out.

Thunder clapped outside the cave—strange, he hadn't scented any alteration in weather.

But then again, he could scent nothing over the stench, could hear nothing over the insufferable hisses and shrieks and snarls. Only the thunder outside, which sounded too hazardous and loud.

And Azryle also tried to not think about Syrene's heritage.

The Duce of Tribes had been harboring with him—the one he was to duel with to death. The Last Starblood. Daughter of Hexet Evreyan. His mind was swarmed with these thoughts, and there was another piece that did not sit well with him.

Azryle shoved his thoughts away—now was not the time or the place.

The cave soon silenced, as the baeselk fell.

This last one came from behind him. He felt it dashing for him before Azryle whirled and sliced. Something tumbled to the ground before the sounds wholly deceased.

He turned back to Alpenstride, and strolled into the stygian dark, he could see nothing inside—could not hear her breathing or beating of heart. But she was alive, he could feel it.

His instincts were still on alert when darkness swallowed him wholly—it was like being blindfolded, reminded him of the day he'd gone to lift her curse five years ago. This darkness was poles apart from that tower, this was like any other dark. But that darkness ... that had been alive and seeing, that had been stretching and rippling as if it'd swallow him, would take hold of him.

Azryle came to a halt.

He could sight nothing—but since the beasts had ended here, she couldn't be deeper into the cave.

Azryle moved his feet, sprawled his mejest, trying to feel her.

But she wasn't there.

This was why he couldn't scent or feel her—they'd towed her out.

Bring her alive to me, Deisn Rainfang has commanded the baeselk—he tried not to brood over that either.

Azryle swore and dashed out of the cave.