CHAPTER THREE—A STRANGE ENCOUNTER
Narrowing his eyes, the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul, slithered through the grass on light feet—the feet of a top-tier adventurer.
The would have otherwise been black, save for the moon above, which cast silvery light over him. Ali had complained of going out at night to scout for forgeable food and water, and even though Dabaku’s eyes were no match for his smell, he had not complained.
Farthest to the south, he was part of the venerable trident of vanguard scouts for the army, and now he was in search of food.
The Black Cobra was a master at poisons. Had he been searching for them, he knew dozens of toxic plant families that branched out into several hundred varieties, he could catch fish with special poison sacks, or find larvae with acidic blood so hot the poison could melt through a man’s hand.
But for food, he was less knowledgeable.
Still, he searched, moving over the uneven terrain. It was wet and covered with a leafy substrate of dead leaves and vines. There must have been natural hot springs underneath the rocks, for the steam vents that rise about from various crevices were many, forming a sheet of water vapor and mist that he could not see through.
If a variety of mushrooms could grow in this environment, he would find them, and so he searched, moving about silently as he poked at the dead vines here and there, and yet he found nothing among them.
He passed a spindly tree with thick green leaves, a most strange plant. He touched the leaves and smelled at them, sensing a malignant aura in the plant’s Gaia—meaning that it contained some form of poisonous substance within.
The top-tier adventurer cut some of the leaves off and put them inside his pouch. As master alchemist in the poison arts, Debaku was always on the lookout for new forms of poison.
Some counteracted others—some became stronger when mixed and tinkered with, or distilled into alcoholic tonics, while others could be used as simple salves to keep away biting insects. Perhaps I should make something for the complaining Abassir.
He smiled, as images of the frustrated high vizier, Ali, came into his mind.
Something shuttered ahead of him and the Black Cobra glanced up, saw movement. His hand instinctually went to the hilt of his scimitar, though no fear filled his heart.
The monsters of this region were numerous and dangerous, but they could not harm him. Their true danger was the threat they posed to the rest of the army. They had to carve a path forward.
However, the monster could be taken for its meat.
Most were not edible in that fashion, as they had little meat, or the flesh was biter or corded beyond all reckoning of one’s teeth. These monsters were different, had not been seen by those of the north—or even Debaku for that matter—for a very long time.
Narrowing his eyes, he moved forward, drawing his scimitar a hand’s breadth from his scabbard. He was on the thing’s trail, closing in as it moved away from him through the mist.
He could not see it, only hear it, for the mist was far too thick here.
Dodging a steam vent, the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul increased his speed toward the monster, and suddenly he made out the form of man ahead and came up short. Why does he run so? Does he seek to lure me somewhere? Is this man a foe?
If he was trying to lure Debaku somewhere to ambush him, the fool would rue that decision with all of his being.
And yet, he was curious, and continued following, when suddenly something took hold of his leg!
As he lost sight of the figure running up ahead, he fell onto his back and pulled his leg in, but that did nothing to make whatever was grabbing onto him let go.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Grunting slightly, Debaku realized he was being dragged across the ground and quite a quick pace. He leaned up and swiped at the ground in front of his foot. Whatever pulled at him loosened slightly, then seemed to grasp at him even more as vine-like tendrils with sticky pink flowers shot up from under the brush and coiled tighter around him.
A steam vent lay ahead, so he rolled to the side and grunted as the leaves of the dead vines and the substrate knocked him about over the uneven surface.
What is this thing?
Rolling back to his back, he leaned up again and took several more swings at the vines around his leg when suddenly something wrapped around his wrist where he held his sword.
He jerked away from it, but the thing’s grip was quiet tight when all of a sudden his other arm was taken hold off, along with his free leg.
Grunting and bearing his teeth, he strained to get free and was surprised when he couldn’t simply break the fibrous tendrils apart. In fact—he felt quite weak. Is this thing draining me of my magical auras?
Debaku snarled as he attempted to write and free himself, to no avail as a sheer cliff face appeared through the misty vapors. The vines pilled, lifting up along the cliff as he was hauled up off of the ground.
Everything turned and he glanced about, surprised the tendrils had not gone for his neck. He writhed, realizing the speed at which these vines carried him had increased dramatically.
He landed at the top of the cliff and kicked his legs, grunting and snarling as he attempted to get free, but it was no use. He could not swing his blade to where it needed to go, even though he had seen some small amount of success the first time.
It seems this creature caught onto my attempted escape!
Wherever he was being dragged, it was not a place he wanted to be. Even a top-tier adventurer could be shredded or devoured within a maw of jagged teeth, or poisoned with spiny tendrils.
He knew not where he was carried, or for what reason—or even if that man had led him here, though it seemed like it.
Why not just ambush him?
Suddenly footsteps pattered over the sand. There were still many steam vents ahead, leaving the entire area in a mist-covered blanket that prevented him from knowing where he was.
Sliding over the sand, the trunk of a turtlenut palm slipped by. He glanced about, looking for those quick and hurried footsteps that chased him at a sprint.
He saw movement through the mist, but then the man moved behind a steam vent, obscuring himself from view.
The attacker was good to use this environment to prevent him from defending himself. He breathed in deeply, his eyes glazing over a he called upon hidden depths of his powers, powers left to him by the jinni Archaemenes before he had been lost to the void.
Debaku’s human form—his natural form, began to alter.
He would slip from these vines and slither to safety, where he—
But it was too late.
Those sprinting feet came upon him and he man jumped, summersaulting over Debaku to deliver a killing blow with that glinting blade.
He landed in front of the Black Cobra and his blades—her blades?!—flashed, cutting the vines. They snapped, and the woman thrust herself back with a powerful lurch away from the direction where Debaku was being dragged.
“What are you doing?!” he barked.
The woman said nothing as she slashed at the vines, more tendrils falling away and freeing him enough so that he could use his sword arm.
He turned his shoulders and hips and sliced across the sand to free his left leg. Once he stopped moving, he looked up and found that the woman was gone.
Glancing left and right, he found nothing but swirling must.
“Where did you go?”
“Here.”
She was behind him.
He narrowed his eyes and whirled to his feet, his blade raised defensively, but when he caught sight of the woman he realized her blades were lowered—and she did indeed have two of them, long, slender and curved.
They were much like the hashashin’s sword of Dar Shaq.
The woman had long brown hair, fair skin with a coppery hue and most of her skin was exposed, save for her breasts, held up with a leather-cupped girdle. She wore knee-high boots in the Ashahnai fashion with upturned points and heels.
How she managed to run about over this and and through the rough terrain in them, Dabaku did not know.
She beckoned with her and, and the Black Cobra swept his gaze over her thin leather breaches and up to her face where lush pink lips quirked and where dark critical eyes regarded him.
“You were in distress, Zamboulian.”
“I am not Zamboulian,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow. “It matters not, but if you know what is good for you, then you will leave this place.”
“Why?” he asked, his curiosity an intense thing that assailed him, not only because of who this strange woman was, come from nowhere to rescue him, but for the safety of the army that would no doubt come through here.
She took two steps back.
“Who are you?” he prompted.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Be gone from here.” She backed away, her body slowly obscured from the must. “I may not be nearby next time you or your men need saving from the Angor.”
“What?” he shot back, wondering if she was aware of the army.
She lurched away and he went after her, running several paces into the mist, but then he stopped, glanced about for any visible signs of her. There weren’t even footprints on the damp sand.
Debaku quested out, attempting to sense her aura.
The woman had none to begin with.
All was quiet.