“Not in the least,” Uthalion answered and turned to the back of the room. “Let’s get Brindani and-”
“This can end now,” a voice said, booming through the house and shaking the boards beneath their boots. Uthalion gasped and stumbled forward, turning as the words reverberated and distorted into meaningless echoes that burned in his ears. Vaasurri had squeezed his eyes shut, ducking down beneath the open window. Brindani’s struggle in the northern hallway fell silent, and the dreamers outside mewled submissively as they backed away from the house, gathering at the edge of the porch.
Crouching and crawling forward, Uthalion caught the knowing look on Ghaelya’s face as she turned away from the window, shaken by the thundering sound of the newcomer.
“What was that?” Uthalion whispered.
“The Choir,” she answered at length. “Or one of them at least.”
Uthalion peered out the window and looked beyond the gathered pairs of gleaming eyes ringed around the porch. He caught a glimpse of a tall figure in dark robes. A palpable unnatural aura surrounded the being, clinging like gossamer webs of shadow as he ambled awkwardly down the slope, his movements quicker than his appearance would suggest.
“What is it?” Uthalion muttered under his breath.
“I am but a man, like you,” the voice said, oozing into his ears like molten metal. He ducked away from the window, as if he might hide from the approaching figure and the painful sound of its voice. “Unlike you,” the voice continued, “I bear a blessing upon my flesh and carry purpose in my heart. Call me Sefir, and let us have an agreement between us, man to man.”
“And what might that be?” Uthalion replied, looking to Vaasurri and gesturing to the back hallway as he spoke to Sefir. “For, truth be told, I can’t imagine what we could possibly have in common.”
Vaasurri and Ghaelya moved quietly from the room, the genasi looking back only to see Uthalion shoo her away quietly. He sheathed his sword loudly, certain that the sharp-eared Sefir would hear the gesture and hoping it might cover the sound of the others’ retreat.
“She is not meant for such as you,” Sefir growled, causing the dust to dance upon the floor. “Your band will be undone by the genasi, torn from each other by greed and envy, secrets and lies … unless you bring her to me.”
The words gave Uthalion pause for thought as the musical quality of Sefir’s voice spiralled madly into chaos. Each syllable seemed to fall apart and scurry into the cracks of the walls, vibrating through the floorboards. Somewhere in the voice were familiar notes of song, twisted and of a lesser quality than Uthalion recalled, but the connection was there.
Bring her to me, bring her to me …
He shook free of the memory and crawled away from the window, easily resisting the discordant charm in Sefir’s voice. Scowling, he quietly stood, backing into the shadows of the hallway and taking up a small lantern he’d found in the piles of furniture in the common room.
“Well?” Sefir asked impatiently.
“I’m considering it,” Uthalion answered. “Can you give me four or five days to think it over?”
A low tone, humming loudly, slowly rose into a shriek of quaking rage that shook the ground. Uthalion fell to his knees, certain that his ears would bleed at any moment as the walls shook, and dust turned his hair a venerable shade of early gray. He gripped the edge of the doorway for balance, the old wood trembling beneath his fingers and creaking as Sefir’s show of anger threatened to shatter the farmhouse into splinters.
“I thought not,” he grumbled, kicking out the legs of a carefully placed chair. It brought down a pile of debris, blocking the door as he turned to the back of the hallway.
He kicked and punched the old wood, mostly rot held together by rusted nails and the barest memory of what might have once been paint. Satisfied, he gestured to Ghaelya and presented the new, gaping hole in the back of the house.
“Back door,” she muttered and sheathed her sword. “My mistake.”
The house shook again as the dreamers joined the dreadful singing of their master, roaring and pouncing onto the porch, fighting one another for the opportunity to lead the attack. Vaasurri gripped Uthalion’s arm before rushing out into the ravine behind the house.
“Don’t take too long,” the fey said.
“No worries,” Uthalion replied. He clapped his friend on the shoulder as Vaasurri leaped into the dark, swiftly followed by a grumbling Ghaelya.
Uthalion turned back to the makeshift barrier just as Brindani appeared, crashing into the wall from the north bedroom. His leg was bloodied, but still carrying his weight. Uthalion grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the opening.
“Let’s go,” he said roughly, feeling time slip away with each scrape of a claw on the floor, each creaking snap of wood to the dreamers’ fury. But Brindani resisted, pulling away and shaking his head.
“No,” the half-elf said. “I’ll stay. Ghaelya needs you more than me. I’ll hold those things back for as long as I-”
Uthalion shoved Brindani aside, pushing him toward the back of the hallway.
“Already taken care of,” he said and eyed the barrier as it shook and shifted, making a quick estimate of how much time it might buy them.
“You?” Brindani said in disbelief. “No, she needs you to-”
Brindani flinched as a spark of flame erupted between Uthalion’s fingers, the glow of a tindertwig illuminating the hallway. He flinched again as Uthalion tossed the small lantern onto the barrier. Broken glass scattered through its gaps, and a glistening pattern of lamp oil splashed through the old wood and cloth. The hallway filled quickly with the smell of fresh smoke and oil.
“I’m no hero,” he said to the surprised expression on the half-elf’s face. He tossed the tindertwig as he added, “I’m not an idiot either.”
Oil and old dwarven spirits burst into flames that licked at Uthalion’s heels as he turned to the dark outside. The dry wood popped, and the fire caught easily. He managed half a confident grin before he was roughly tackled from the left and pinned to the wall. Fangs pierced his shoulder. Yelling in pain and shock, he punched at the bloodied dreamer with his free hand as he was dragged to the floor. Smoke stung his eyes as the dull burn of shock and pressure radiated from the bite, the beast’s teeth breaking through his armor just enough to reach flesh.
Through the blur of smoke, tears, flame, and shrieking beasts, a flash of steel lanced into the vicious dreamer, digging deep and stilling the thunderous heartbeat that pressed against Uthalion’s chest. The wide jaws fell slack, and the thick neck twisted away limply as Uthalion pushed free of the creature, pausing curiously as he caught sight of tiny fishlike scales glistening around the dreamer’s jowls and glassy eyes.
“I thought you’d already killed it,” he said, gripping his shoulder tightly to slow the bleeding.
“Me too,” Brindani replied, coughing in the smoke. “Guess we’re both idiots.”
Uthalion merely scowled, saving what breath he had as he shoved Brindani outside and followed after. A cloud of swirling black smoke trailed them both as they tumbled and rolled down the steep ravine, the furious cries of Sefir and his twisted hounds echoing through the winding cracks of the Wash.
Ghaelya sat at the bottom of the ravine, coughing and bruised, and slapping dirt from her legs. She stared up at the growing nimbus of flames through the thick brush and small trees along the side of the ravine. She grinned at the discordant, yet musical fury of Sefir, but the pained whines of the dreamers gave her a momentary pang of pity. Something in the creatures’ voices, almost childlike, touched her deeply. She shivered despite herself.
Vaasurri approached, keeping low and glancing around nervously, a hunter’s gleam in his dark eyes.
“We must hide, and quickly,” he said and prowled into the dark, motioning for her to follow.