Chapter 25 Seeing Red #2
As Ingamar flapped his wings once more before landing on solid ground, three enormous sets of eyes emerged from the flames.
These were followed by the emergence of long, bared teeth.
Northern wolves with bodies as large as Ingamar’s approached.
Lark took hold of the sword, only getting it halfway out of the sheath before the giant wolves lunged at them.
Ingamar swatted the first, flaring back as his hind legs touched down.
At the same time, Lark pulled the sword free, but she lost her grip on the saddle.
The momentum of his flare caused her to fall back.
The snarling and snapping jaws of dragon and wolf became muffled as Lark bounced off Ingamar’s wing and landed flat on the ground.
Ingamar clawed, connecting with fur-covered flesh.
His tail hissed as he spun it over Lark, striking another giant Northern wolf that had snuck past his claws and was bearing down on Lark.
By the time Lark was on her feet, ready for the fight, Ingamar had released a furious torrent of fire, blasting out in the wolves’ direction.
One took the brunt of the heat, turning to ash as the other two disappeared into the smoke.
Ingamar cut his breath of fire off, snapping his jaws together with a clack, then he roared before chasing after them.
Lark rose to a fighting stance, both hands on the long sword, the armor feeding her energy and heightening her senses.
“Thank the gods I’m not on Ingamar’s bad side,” Lark muttered under her breath as she scanned her immediate surroundings.
Clusters of blue gemstones littered the ground all around her.
This was where the lightning has pulsed, sending a god’s power splashing down, crystalizing into the Yogo Sapphires as it was forced through the veil between realms. The sapphires were uncut and grouped together in prismatic patterns.
They glowed like cobalt formations of quartz, the light brightening their hue as it pulsed in the same way the Hyalite had.
In the same way the lightning strike that delivered them through the veil had.
Seeing no sign of Ingamar or the giant Northern wolves, Lark began gathering the Sapphires by the handful.
She grouped them into piles among the soot for easy collection when Ingmar returned with the saddle bags.
Lark momentarily unclipped her brismil scale to fill the leather pouch that was on her belt.
Heat from the inferno blasted her skin while she untied it, quickly donning the armor before the radiant heat blistered her skin.
She worked quickly, filling the purse with two large handfuls of Yogos.
Faster than before, she unclasped the scale, exposing herself to the heat again as she secured the Yogos and reformed her armor.
Flames dwindled as the head of the fire rolled westward. Lark had piled up all the sapphires into two mounds.
This has to be enough to buy the tracking charm we need from Ezra’s elven friend, she thought.
Each pile would easily fill a saddle bag when Ingamar returned. Lark stretched her thoughts out, feeling for the faint connection to Ingamar.
How far did he chase those wolves? she wondered, the thread of their connection so thin it was barely noticeable.
Low grunts sounded behind her. Lark spun, dropping into a fighting stance with her long sword pointed out.
Six hulking Morsythians stalked toward her.
These threatening orcs, known for maintaining their tribal independence from the Northern Kingdoms, were three times the size of an average human.
They were even bulkier than the orc she’d faced in Fletcher’s Passage.
Black tribal tattoos covered their skin.
Their wiry black hair was dreaded in thick sections and pulled back behind their torso-sized heads.
Two ivory tusks as long as Lark’s dagger spurred up from their lower jaws, rising between thick lips, coming to points just beneath their red eyes.
All six wielded wide cleaver-like swords, chipped on the edges and reddened from recent use.
“Ashes,” Lark cursed as they advanced through the smoldering flames wearing only leathers and fur to protect them from the heat.
Surrounding her, they closed in. One of the enormous Morsythians produced something from under his leather and fur vest, gripping it tightly as he spoke in a deep voice.
The heavy sounding syllables ground out of him as though forced, though they were clearly in his native language.
The spell tumbled out of him like boulders sliding down a mountainside.
A red hue glowed in his palm. Lark’s eyes went wide with recognition.
This red wasn’t like that of the coals burning in the tree trunks around them.
It was deeper, like blood, like the red that came from the amulets of the others.
Lark reacted too slowly. The power from the orc’s spell cascaded out like water pouring through flood gates.
Ingamar’s connection with her stiffened, nearly causing Lark to jump as he came thundering back into view.
“Ingamar,” Lark shouted in warning.
The Morsythian sorcerer spoke the last of his guttural words with a sharp clap of his hands and a red plume expelled out.
Lark dove, narrowly escaping it while Ingamar arched his neck to blast the Morsythian.
Before he could breathe fire, the spell closed in around him.
Ingamar released the fire, but it died instantly in the cloud of growing red fog.
He thrashed, claws swiping at the red powder as it lifted him and suspended him off the ground.
He pumped his wings, but the fine red smoke trapped him in place.
By the time Lark had risen to her feet again, one of the hulking Morsythians had moved in to attack. His massive blade swung in. Lark twisted faster than any human, but it wasn’t fast enough. She failed to get out of the way. The blade slammed into her back, sending her sprawling.
How are they doing that? Lark wondered, as she gasped for air. The brismil plate protected her from being hewn, but the blow knocked the wind out of her. Lark scrambled to her feet, inhaling half breaths that failed to fill her lungs.
Another orc joined the first. When she faced them, both were mid-swing, their swords slicing in opposing side swings, leveled to snip off her head.
Lark dropped to a knee, tucking her head as the swords passed a breath overhead.
Both orcs were fully committed to their attack.
Neither could stop his blade as they carried through toward each other.
A sickening thud sounded as the orcs felled one another.
Lark slipped between the fallen orcs. Finally able to breathe deeply again, she met the next attack.
The remaining Morsythians barreled into the fray while the orc with the amulet struggled to keep Ingamar contained in the red mist. Lark blocked a heavy-handed blow from one orc.
She deflected another as she took a glancing hit across the front of her helmet.
She planted her boot into another as he raised his sword aloft.
Her enhanced kick cracked his chest, and she sent him flying.
She spun out of the way, suffering a hit on the shoulder as another blade came crashing in.
The remaining two Morsythians peppered her with hits.
Lark wove around them as best she could, blocking and keeping pace with their attack.
Her instincts began to take over, seeing openings after the fact that she should’ve taken to end the bout.
She had no idea where or when she’d learned to fight like this, but the more she moved, the more she understood what she needed to do.
She blocked a choppy strike, stomping her foot into one orc’s knee, causing him to fumble to maintain his footing.
He thrust wildly and she caught his arm under hers.
She thrust her sword under his jaw. The Morsythian went limp, falling into the ashes at her feet.
The remaining orc backed away, giving her space as he joined the orc who was attempting to join the fight after suffering her powerful kick.
Lark vibrated with excitement, her necklace sizzling on her collar from the strength she wielded.
The sensation urged her forward. This was a real challenge.
These Morsythians were huge, even for their kind.
Despite the advantage of their size and numbers, Lark’s brismil plate allowed her to hold her own.
As she pressed in on them, a smile spread across her face.
The orcs couldn’t see it through her dragon scale visor, but she bore an almost maniacal grin.
A figure in steel plate armor, stained with soot and blood came streaking in through the flames with unnatural speed. His enormous dark blue blade sliced clean through a Morsythian, cleaving one of the two orcs Lark had been confronting.
“No,” Lark said, confused as to why this armored man was joining her fight and taking her kill.
She barely recognized him, a friend. It was Venrick. He’d caught up with her and was there to assist in the retrieval of the Yogos at their feet. Lark engaged again with the Morsythian, driving him back. Venrick continued past Lark and trained his brismil sword on the orc wielding the amulet.
No, Lark thought, deflecting her attention from the Morsythian she was facing to what Venrick was doing.
Being half elf, Venrick moved with a grace superior to most humans. With the added advantage of the brismil blade, his speed was too fast for the Morsythians to comprehend. Lark blinked and the tip of Stormbreaker was sticking out the other end of the orc.
“NO!” she barked, somewhat irrationally. That orc was hers to slay. Hers to run through for attacking them and trapping Ingamar.
The red mist surrounding Ingamar faded. Venrick pulled the blade out and stepped away from the felled orc. Ingamar’s breath of fire that had been stalled in the spell’s entrapment blasted out. The fire torched the ground where the orcs had been, scorching the fallen.
A cocktail of emotions crowded Lark’s chest, begging to get out.
Relief for Ingamar flooded in, excitement at their near victory mixing in, and anger toward Venrick for taking what was hers igniting her adrenaline.
The remaining Morsythian backed away from Lark as she focused on Venrick.
She stalked toward him, head angled down, glaring through the slot of her visor.
Venrick dropped the blade, letting it vanish into his sheath.
He slid up his visor, a smile crossed his face.
The smile wavered and faded to a narrow line of worry when Lark continued to march toward him, her shoulders rolled forward, sword still gripped firmly.
Rage rolled over the other emotions and all Lark could see was red.