Read Online Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) by Charles E. Yallowitz - Free Book Online Page B

Luke asks before a harsh memory returns to his mind. He falls to his knees gasping for air and punches the ground. “By the gods, that was bad. Just a wave of anguish and sorrow as if I was reliving Fritz’s death and Nimby’s betrayal. Is that what happened to all of you?”
    “I saw my clan getting wiped out again,” Sari whispers, clinging to Nyx. Her body is already showing patches of frost in an attempt to defend against the attack. “Then I remembered my time in Kalam’s dungeon and getting Mira killed and being tortured and . . . my life has been terrible this last year. What did you see, Delvin?”
    “Remembered that I can never see my family again,” the warrior states, taking a deep, cleansing breath. He sees a flicker of confusion on Luke and Sari’s faces and runs a hand through his hair. “I thought Nyx would have told everyone my story, but I guess not. I’m from the Yagervan Plains and . . . an event in my childhood caused me to leave home. I can never return without making trouble for my parents and tribe. They’ve probably forgotten me by now. You seem fine, Nyx.”
    “I remembered losing my parents, but I found them. Everything else . . . I just couldn’t feel the same level of grief that I did in the actual moment,” the caster explains while she strokes the gypsy’s hair. She runs a red hot hand along the cage bars, turning the wood into ashes that are strewn across the path by the wind. “Maybe I’m more broken than I thought. I always believed death surrounded me since I was a child. Uh, what are Timoran and Fizzle doing?”
    His back to the broken cage, the barbarian is standing in the middle of the road and glaring at Daga. Fizzle is hovering with his tail wrapped around the goblin’s legs, dangling him in front of the towering warrior. When Daga spits at Timoran, he is hauled high above the forest where he screams in terror. The drite slowly lowers him, occasionally pulling him back up to make sure the goblin remains scared. This repeats itself a few times before the elder is reduced to a crying, squealing mess of oily tears.
    “Fizzle having fun,” the drite declares as the others approach. He waves to his friends and happily spins Daga over Timoran’s head. “Bad goblin about to tell us where go.”
    “What happened with the goblins?” Nyx asks, her arm still tight around Sari’s shoulders.
    “Unlike your friends, this tribe eats travelers. They believe the curse makes hunting easier, so they were unwilling to cooperate,” Timoran answers as he grabs Daga by the neck. The goblin growls and hisses, baring his yellow teeth in a feeble attempt to threaten the barbarian. “I suggest your tribe find another means of sustenance. If I return to these woods and learn you are still eating people, I will call the warriors of my tribe to drive you into the L’dandrin River. Now tell us where to go to end this curse.”
    “Daga not help when threatened. Tanki promised reward for showing path.”
    “The reward is that I do not crush your head like an egg,” the barbarian growls, his patience coming to an end. “I defeated you and earned your help. By your own honor, you must assist us like you promised.”
    “Daga never said he had honor.”
    Sari places a gentle hand on Timoran’s back and smiles at the fuming warrior. “Do you mind if I hurry this along? I’m sure I can get him to talk.”
    “Daga not interested in bloated cow,” the goblin snaps, gurgling when the hand around his throat tightens. He gasps for air when he is placed on the ground in front of the gypsy. “Daga know your kind. Not work because Daga find you ugly. Too much meat in wrong places and smell too sweet. Cow should stick to coward or dog man.”
    Sari rubs her hands together and breaths on her palms, manipulating the droplets of spit into frost. With a whispered spell, she smacks Daga in the chest and covers him in ice from the neck down. The goblin’s teeth chatter and he screeches in pain from