That is what they faced.
Calcatrix was the Vaettir word for Cockatrice, a creature that did not exist in Wayland, but was warned of in Druidecht lore.
More wings fluttered. Ribbons of pain sliced into Annon’s elbow. He grabbed the creature with his other hand and sent the fireblood coursing into it, making it explode. He was bleeding from many places now, the blood and sweat mingling.
Before they had faced darkness. Now the room was light. He made the connection instantly. Without light, the Cockatrice had no ability to turn them into stone.
“Khiara!” Annon shouted, swatting away at others who ravaged at him. “The orbs! Crush the glass! Darkness will save us!”
Annon let out another plume of fire and spread it out in a wide net, trying to keep the next ones back. His heart churned with the magic, the temptation to loose it completely and turn the entire chamber into ash. The pain sickened his thoughts, adding to the compulsion to kill. He squeezed his eyes shut, near delirious from the itching pain in his arms and back.
The sound of shattering glass echoed. The chamber dimmed slightly. Annon crawled away from the base of the statue and scrabbled to another, trying to change positions. More of the Cockatrice fell on him, pecking and stabbing him with beak and talon. He kicked and shoved them away, willing his eyes to remain closed. Another burst of glass sounded. Then another.
He could imagine Khiara in the air, using the sense of light from her eyelids to draw near and then pulverizing the orbs with the butt of her staff. Another went out. The room was darkening and the Cockatrice increased the ferocity of the attack. One of the creatures went straight for Annon’s face, clawing his cheek. He huddled low, burying his face in his arms, and brought in his body. They swarmed around him, pecking and tearing at him.
Another orb shattered amidst the fury. Darkness descended around them, closing in like a veil. Khiara had broken most of the columns around them. As the light failed, the Cockatrice grew confused and began flapping around the chamber wildly, as if chasing something. Or someone!
“Khiara!” Annon croaked, fearing for her. The sound of breaking glass happened farther and farther away. He knelt, dragging himself forward, listening to the sounds of wings and malevolent cawing.
The explosion of glass from the final orb plunged the room back into darkness. Annon writhed in pain on the floor then, twitching with agony. The whoosh of the wings disappeared as the Cockatrice return to their roosting place.
Erasmus moaned somewhere nearby. Khiara’s voice came from the gloom. “Where are you?”
“Here,” Annon said, trying to sit. He heard the soft tread of her boots as she approached and knelt by him. He was feverish with suffering, skin burning with itching and cuts.
“Hold still,” she breathed, resting her hand on his back. A flood of relief surged through him, emerging from her hands to tame the wild pain and soothe the tormenting itches. The venom of the Cockatrice purged from his body, and he lay gasping with relief and comfort. It was amazing. He had never felt such torture in his life. It felt like his back had been a field harrowed by a farmer and now it was soaked with healing waters and soothed. He sat up, breathing deeply.
“Thank you, Khiara,” he said, meaning every word. “I heard Erasmus over there.”
“Yes,” came the reply through clenched teeth. She found him and applied her hands again, using the keramat to heal him. “I would have paid ten thousand ducats for that,” Erasmus said with a blissful sigh. “Sadly, I do not have a hundred anymore. But I do thank you, Khiara. Death by stone would have been easier, I should think.”
They all stood, listening to the rustling sounds on the floor around them of the dying Cockatrice, those who could not fly. An idea sprouted in Annon’s mind.
Nizeera shared it instantly. Wise, Druidecht. Turn the enemy’s weapon against him.
“Before we depart,” Annon said. “I think we should bring the Rikes a gift when we visit.”
“There is news in the city. All shipments of goods from Havenrook have been halted to Kenatos. The Arch-Rike has negotiated a new treaty with the king of Wayland to transport grain, fruits, and timber. In retaliation, we have learned that the Romani are attacking the shipments and destroying the caravans bound for our docks, seizing the goods and stockpiling them in Havenrook. Confrontations like these are inevitable, but it is curious that the Preachán act as if they alone have the right to control trade. I pity them, for the king of Wayland has a massive army and the Preachán are vulnerable. The woods that surround Havenrook will not protect them long. The Arch-Rike’s pragmatism is truly inspiring. I hope these skirmishes do not provoke a war between our kingdoms.”