Page 89 of A Brat's Tale
“I do, but it’s going to fall, and I don’t know what will come out,” he says.
Jagar nods. “I’ll be here.”
Jagar also looks at me when he thinks Corrik is distracted; normally Corrik never is, but with him so low on lifeforce, Jagar’s even able to send me full messages with his eyes. I understand. He doesn’t just think he’ll need my help, he knows he will, and he’s sorry for it. I nod enough for him to see so he can know I’m ready. I get my bow set up, and I quickly check my sword is clear in its scabbard—I think I’m going to need it.
The cocoon mass writhes every so often and the pus-like secretions drip and sizzle hot when they land on the stone floor. Aldagir has to traverse several heights of ledges to make it to the place the cocoon’s plastered to the ceiling. I have no idea what the thing’s made of, but it must be as good as steel, holding the massive weight under it at the height it’s at.
“Ready?” Aldagir calls down.
“Ready,” Jagar says.
Aldagir’s able to heave his massive Elf sword and hack clean through the attachment point; when it falls, there’s a loudcrunch-splatand then silence between the second it hits the ground and the brief moment in time it takes Jagar to swing his sword. He hoists it mightily, and it sinks deep into the mass.
Then nothing.
We wait, knowing that was too easy. Sure enough, the mass starts writhing over its surface like a thousand worms are crawling through it. Jagar yanks his sword out and continues to stab at it, but it’s not enough. We’ve fucking disturbed it and it’s going to come out and let us know.
When it rips from its slumber, the brawny material of its cocoon is loud as it peels away. It’s pissed but also hurt, bleeding dark blood. When Corrik called it a witch wyrm, I expected some kind of worm, especially with the whole cocoon thing it’s got going on, but it’s not. It looks more like a human shadow and its draped in black robes. Although it doesn’t have a clearly defined face, it’s got consciousness beyond a mindless killing creature and I remember Corrik’s cuffs and bindings. Nothing mindless would have imprisoned its victims in a calculated way, it would have simply consumed them.
But there’s a method in the way this creature operates.
Right now, all we get is the creature side of its personality, we’re not going to be able to reason with it. It’s enraged and wants to kill us all, letting loose an ear-splitting screech to tell us so. As Jagar swings, I release an arrow, which strikes true, but unfortunately pulls its attention toward me. I don’t mind that, but Corrik might have somethingto say about it later if there is a later. I can’t think of him right now, I have to focus.
Aldagir is making his way down from the top ledge, sword in hand and two things happen at the same time. He takes a leap and catapults himself sword first toward the witch wyrm. The witch wyrm gets its bearings, recognizing that the imminent threat from Aldagir is real, and begins to move its claw-like hands in a circle, gathering some kind of black dust seemingly from thin air, swirling in a cochlear pattern.
I don’t know what it’s doing, but three guesses say that black dust’s fucking bad. I can’t let it hit Aldagir and I’m just that much closer; I’ll make it before he does. In one, fluid, motion, I reach for my sword and pull it out, the ring of steel announcing its arrival into the stale air. Spinning in an arc, I lob its head clean off, and manage to slip out of the way before Aldagir’s sword gets me.
The head sails across the floor and the rest of the witch wyrm crumples in a heap. There’s dark purple light and then the life vanishes from the witch wyrm.
Everyone’s staring at me, none of them move. “Is it - is it dead?” I ask, also in shock feeling bits of slimy pus leak down my arm, and sticky blood splattered over my face. I didn’t expect this sword to make such clear work of the witch wyrm, but I remember the king made it special for me, embedded with powerful magic.
Corrik is quiet, staring at me like he’s never seen me before.
Jagar nods sheathing his sword. “It is dead, can’t sew its head back on,” he winks at me. “I’ll light it on fire to make sure and then I suggest we get out of here, before anymore take its place. It’s going to take some time to reach the bottom of the mountain as it is; the prince and Salamir need food and water badly.”
Corrik nods. “We lucked out and a little water’s been coming in just back there, probably from the top of the mountain, but it isn’t much.”
I pull the canteen from my pack. “Drink this for now. I’ll get more.”
Corrik drinks half of it but refuses the rest. “I can wait until we getout of here and our friend is right, it’s best to leave quickly. I’ve been here long enough.”
I nod. “C’mon.”
After we do a quick check of all the bodies, hoping for at least one more miracle (there wasn’t one) I slip myself under Corrik to give him assistance walking, and we get away from this place as fast as we can.
Jagar helps Corrik, by way of magic, healing away some of his injuries and giving him a bit of strength to lean on, so we can get down the mountain. It’s treacherous for someone fully able-bodied, weak as he is, it’s hard. And unfortunately, Jagar is unable to give him his lifeforce back; that has to return on its own. He does the same for his son, but his son won’t wake up yet.
“What about the ones that came before this one?” I ask.
Corrik is grim. “I don’t know, and I don’t know where they’ve been going, but I understand they use the same breeding ground. The other question to answer is, who’s conjuring them? My guess is Rogue Elves.”
Of course, it is. I sigh. “And if it’s not?”
“Then I’m clueless. I didn’t even know I was tracking a witch wyrm. I thought they were an Elven bedtime story parents told their children to keep them from wandering off. They’re like parasites at first; not human, or Elf. They must be created in this form and then they feed to be reborn into a witch—a White Witch.”
“I gather they have some level of consciousness,” I tell him. “You were chained up in specific kinds of cuffs.”
He nods. “They possess a survival-base level of knowledge specific to their prey—Elves. They also have a solid command of magic. It created those chains. It had enchantments to cast over them, so it could trap me. It was born with certain magical capabilities, enough to feed and protect itself, so it could reach the next phase of its development. It’s like a worm turning to moth. I should have been able to kill it with ease, but I was arrogant, I should have waited for back up,but I went in on my own. That’s when it caught me by surprise. Now all those children are dead because of me. They … they suffered, Tristan, while I watched, my sword nearby, unable to do a thing about it.”
