Free Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) by Joseph Turkot Page B

of the Drya had already been released into the air again; sleepily, dwarf and gnome tried their best to fell more of the plant beings. Remtall jumped into the air, forgetting to hold his breath, and threw his leg at the head of a Drya he was bounding toward. Overtaken again by the Dryan draught, Remtall collapsed on top of the creature, crushing it in the process, once again asleep upon hitting the earth.
    Ulpo turned to see the acid of the crushed Drya searing Remtall, where he lay in a growing puddle of its ooze. He rushed to the gnome’s aid and tried to roll him from the acid, but a shooting tendril struck the back of his head. He became dizzy, steadied himself, and then fell to the ground. Ulpo opened his eyes from the forest floor, and in his pain he forgot not to breathe the noxious air. A mysterious shape streaked by his feet. Looking sidelong, Ulpo thought he saw a pearly light. Shrieks pierced the night all around him, fainter with each passing moment. To Ulpo’s fading consciousness it sounded as if the Drya were being destroyed—something was killing them, and they moaned a chorus of death wails. As he succumbed to the fumes for a third time, a blurry figure came to stand at his feet: a human, softly luminous. Somehow, Ulpo thought he could see through the body.
    “Who are you?” he murmured. The utterance had been his last strength of consciousness. He fell asleep to a vision of a phantom rolling Remtall from a puddle of Drya slime.   
     
    *            *             *
     
    “Wake up, small ones,” came a commanding voice from above. Remtall awoke to the booming voice and feverishly began to scratch his right arm where the Drya slime had burned through his glove, turning the skin there to a rash of itchy pus.
    “Don’t!” said the voice. “The venomous sap of the Drya is spread that way. Here, use this. Put it on your hand.” A soft-glowing man knelt down to Remtall and placed in his hand an ovular glass jar filled with white goo.
    “Who are you?” Remtall asked, still drowsy from his dose of the Dryan gas. He surveyed the stranger with what wits he had: the man was tall, at least as tall as Adacon, and wore ancient clothing the color of fern, with root-colored belts that crisscrossed his chest. Hanging from the belts were several pouches, one of which he’d removed the small jar from. At his sides hung two swords, medium length and razor thin, sheathed in russet leather that matched his boots. He wore dark silver greaves, and a dull circular shield was slung over one of his shoulders. But most peculiar of all was the dim-white glow that enveloped the man, and Remtall wandered if he was alive or dead. The waking gnome looked to his side to see Ulpo still sleeping from the Dryan gas. He returned his gaze to the calm visage of the ghoulish man looking down at him.
    “Use the salve. It will stop the pain, heal your burn,” said the stranger. Remtall was hesitant, unsure whether to trust the man.
    “Don’t be worried—look, I’ve already put some on your friend’s hands, and he’s healed already,” said the man. Remtall looked back to Ulpo, and sure enough the dwarf’s hands looked unscathed where the acid had seared them. Remtall sat up with a throbbing headache, and as Ulpo began to waken, the gnome spread the stranger’s ointment on his burns. In the same instant that the cool salve touched his skin, the acid boils began to undulate, as if his skin was alive. The raw burns receded to reveal new flesh.
    “Amazing! What have you for head pain?” asked Remtall, gathering strength to hoist himself back to his feet.
    “I have nothing that will fix that for you,” responded the man.
    “Why did they assault us like that?” asked Remtall, looking around. It appeared to be the middle of night still, but they were nowhere near the giant mushrooms under which they had been fighting earlier. Remtall surveyed the nearby woods with the light of the glow coming from the