Earth's Requiem(45)
“That’s better,” Metae said, mistakenly interpreting Aislinn’s facial expression to mean she was relaxing.
“Why yes, it is, isn’t it?” Aislinn turned her smile on Metae. It was getting easier now that the shock of seeing what she—no, it—really was had worn off a little. “Where are you taking me?”
“Why, to the alchemists, of course. You wanted a charm, or a spell. It must be matched to your energy. By the time that is accomplished, the time you said you were willing to spend with us will be all but gone.”
A door in one of the illusory buildings opened. They walked down many stone steps into an underground grotto. Lanterns masquerading as cut crystal lights hung from hooks. Shelves crowded with scrolls lined the walls. A raised pallet sat in the middle of the room. Beneath its illusion, it was really an earthen platform splotched with red and green stains. A coppery scent tickled her nostrils. Aislinn wondered what color their blood was.
“Lie down, child.” Metae’s voice was gentle.
“I’d rather not.” Aislinn backed stiffly toward the stairs.
“How else can we match a charm to your energy?” The voice exuded reason, promised shelter.
With every fiber of her being in full rebellion, Aislinn propelled herself toward the platform. When she lay down, the wolf positioned his body next to hers. Forcing herself to relax, she reached for her magic. It was muted, as if some sort of shielding stood between her and it, but she thought she could punch through it if she had to. They think I’m weak.
An Old One positioned itself at her head. The wolf’s withdrawal from her mind was immediate. He obviously did not want the Old Ones to know what he could do. A chilly foreleg—that looked like a hand and arm again now that Rune was no longer in her mind—dropped onto her forehead. Energy shot through her brain, probing. She wondered what the thing was hunting for, when her head began to spin. Before she could marshal her resources to fight against it, consciousness ebbed.
From a long way away, she heard herself scream, “Noooooooo—” Aislinn arched her back and kicked her heels to stay awake, but something dark and insistent leached the will out of her. The last thing she felt before slipping into oblivion was Rune, warm and solid against her.
Chapter Eleven
Aislinn ran. Something was behind her. She heard the scrape of claws on stone, felt hot breath against her back. The whoosh of what sounded like huge wings filled the air, but the passageway was so narrow, the thing probably couldn’t spread them. Her lungs burned. She didn’t know what was back there and couldn’t afford the time to look. If she did, her slender margin would vanish, and the thing would snap her up. It wanted to kill her. Hatred raked her back each time it breathed.
Rock walls glimmering with tiny lichen flashed past. The floor had slimy spots. She slipped more than once. Where the fuck am I? Leg muscles aching and a stitch cramping her side, she blundered on. Am I dreaming? Can you die in dreams? Aislinn careened around a corner. Her booted heel landed on a slick spot, and she sprawled on her ass, the breath knocked out of her.
Terror pounded. She couldn’t run much farther. Struggling to make her lungs work, she leapt to her feet, spun, and faced the thing closing fast behind her. Aislinn yanked her dirk from her belt and grappled to find her magic. It was there—sort of—but fire, always her first preference, was missing. She dragged air and earth into the beginning of a protection spell. Fire was for fighting. If she couldn’t have that, maybe she could at least slow down whatever was after her by warding herself.
The monster was enormous. It filled the cave-like passage nearly to its ceiling. The creature looked the way she’d always imagined dragons would, with burnished reddish scales covering a reptile’s body. A long tail curved over its head. Small forelegs and sturdy hind legs were tipped with wicked-looking red talons that had to be six inches long. It had the same eyes as the Old Ones: spinning pools of night.
Aislinn stood tall, squaring her shoulders. If this was truly where things ended, she’d go out strong, not cowering. “What do you want with me?” She infused compulsion into her question, then wondered why she’d bothered. Surely her puny magic was no match for the thing of legend standing before her.
A gout of fire spewed from its mouth, landing a foot shy of her boots. It stared at her. She looked anywhere but at its eyes. They were too much like the Old Ones’ for comfort. She knew that if she met its gaze, she’d be lost. It came closer, hot breath oddly comforting in the chilly air of the cave. The dragon—what else could it be?—smelled of sulfur and blood. A rough, taloned foreleg skittered down her body, first one side, then the other. Aislinn relaxed fractionally. If it wanted to kill her, she’d be dead. She tried again, “What do you want with me?”