Page 40 of Ties of Death

They charge, and Daenn has to retreat to give himself time to draw his own sword. Storm, though, leaps to meet them, ripping at the nearest man. His dying screams deafen us.

Daenn brings his sword up to block the second man’s attack. They clash, again and again. The third swings at Daenn’s legs with his spear when there’s an opening, and Daenn trips over it, slamming his head into the wall. He stumbles to his feet quickly, before they can get any closer, but he’s swaying on his feet. His gaze looks slightly unfocused. The fourth edges forward, waiting for Daenn to stumble again.

I won’t wait. I reach for my magic, guiding it through me to strike at the fourth man like last time I wielded it. He crumples in an awkward heap, and the third man turns to gawp—which gives Daenn his own opening to stab the man in the chest before spinning back to cut down the second.

The fight lingers in the air as it echoes down the halls. I hate to break the silence; who knows how many more Elyri lurk in the temple?

“These are no monks,” Daenn says drily. He leans on the wall, his eyes squeezed shut. Storm nudges his shoulder, and Daenn nearly topples.

“How hard did you hit your head?” I ask, my voice rising with my alarm.

He mutely shakes his head, wincing at the motion. I hurry to his side and look him over, but he waves me off.

“I’m just… I’ll be fine. Give me a moment.”

And then I realize exactly what it is. It’s the bracer; it’s draining him so much even the hit he took to his head—certainly not nothing, but usually easier to shake for the Daenn I know—takes it out of him.

I want to rip the bracer off him and throw it in the nearest fire.

Pattering echoes scurry toward us. I turn, putting myself between Daenn and the new noise. Storm releases a warning shriek.

But the next man to come out of the hallway isn’t an Elyri warrior; he bears no weapons or armor or pointed ears and unusual coloring of the ones we just fought.

He’s a monk with a long dark beard and plain robes. He pulls up at the sight of us, wide eyes casting over the scene. They shift slowly back to Daenn and me.

“You can’t be out here—you have to hide.”

24

Worry Simmering

We follow the monk from the entrance hall. Daenn grips Storm’s saddle, which I try to ignore. He won’t want me fussing over him further.

“Where are you—” I start, but the monk hushes me, glancing around fearfully.

I snap my mouth shut. I can wait until we’re safe if it means avoiding another fight. Daenn is in no shape to take on anyone else, and I have no desire to test my ability to protect him with magic if I don’t need to.

There are more signs of the Elyri as we go—furniture ransacked or smashed, things tossed about on the floor. The monk practically runs past it all, leading us down the hall, through a dining room, and into the kitchen before we reach a heavy stone door. He presses his hand to it and mutters, and the door swings open silently. He ushers us through. Storm fits, but only just.

We take a short flight of stairs down. The room beyond is cool, lit only by a few small glowing runes on the walls. There are stores of food, large barrels, and other various supplies—and a small group of men.

It seems we’ve found the rest of the monks.

There are only six of them. They’re a tattered group; several sport bandages, all of them look rather dirty, like they haven’t been able to bathe in a while, and they watch us with wary eyes. I edge closer to Daenn and Storm. The scrutiny makes me itchy.

The monk who found us comes down the stairs after a moment; a small glance over my shoulder shows the door—what little I can see of it—shut tight as a mild glow fades from its borders.

“I found them standing over some fallen Elyri in the entrance hall,” our guide announces to his fellow monks.

“The Bompurak border temple sent us,” Daenn says, stepping forward and into the familiar commanding posture I recognize. It seems he’s decided there’s no time to be weak here. “They told us you could give us the matching bracer to the one I wear, but they said nothing of Elyri. What happened here?”

The monk who found us scrubs a hand over his head. “Elyri—they’ve come as treasure hunters. We see them now and then, but usually they’re stuck outside our defenses, then driven away by the jungle’s dangers before too long. But these… They attacked about a week ago, overwhelming the outer defense with some sort of Elyri magic. They swarmed before we knew what was happening. The concentration of their forces has set up outside the treasure room, but they roam the halls as well. A few have been trying to break through our door since we’ve holed up here with the majority of the food stores, but…” He gestures at us. “I was scouting with my magic and saw you heading toward the kitchen, and their ambush of you, and then…” He smiles wanly. “You are welcome to our hospitality, as limited as it currently is.”

“Why don’t you leave?” I ask.

“This is the first time in a while they’ve left our door unwatched.” One of the other monks speaks up. His voice is scratchy and low, not at all what I expect from such a short, thin man. “And even if they didn’t, our best chance of escape that doesn’t leave us dying in the jungle is in the treasure room.”

“We have an anchored through-way door in there,” agrees the first monk.

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