The Devil's Grasp by Chris Pisano & Brian Koscienski

Author:Chris Pisano & Brian Koscienski [Pisano, Chris & Koscienski, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620065662
Publisher: Hellbender Books
Published: 2016-04-29T22:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

Phyl lifted his small tankard of ale, his trembling hand causing frothy liquid to splash over the sides and run down the length of the mug. By the time his beverage reached his mouth, the metal rim chattered against his teeth and foam shot up his nose. Frustrated from only garnering a sip of froth and unable to control his quaking, he placed his mug on the table. “It’s the stone. It has to be.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Pik replied. He considered the circle of events that led him and his companions back to the tavern in Bogosh to await a bard who, so far, might as well have been a figment of their collective imagination. No one in Bogosh had seen the bard, nor even vaguely recalled his presence on the day Pik and his friends were given the stone-finding quest. The light from the oil lamp slid across his pursed lips in slick strokes, while his furrowed brows and taut cheeks caused shadows to fall and tumble in a terrifying dance. His eyes held such anger that it was no wonder why humans considered hobgoblins things found in nightmares. “How is that even possible?”

“I agree with Phyl. The stone is cursed,” Zot offered, watching the flickering flame as if it held the answers.

“Bah! Curses are for parents cajoling a child or washed-up witches pilfering a few coins from gullible tourists.”

“Zot was just saying,” whimpered Phyl.

“The only curse right now is having to listen to the two of you come up with explanations for what’s happening.”

Pik’s words were enough to make Phyl try for another sip of ale. He used both hands this time, but found the results to be twice as disastrous. He returned the mug to the table. “You’re not the only one who lost someone close, you know. Zot’s brothers and sisters disappeared one at a time while he had the Spirit Stone. And I just lost my best friend and hunting partner.”

“Hunting partner,” Pik snorted, as if the words were offensive. “If it were possible to be a worse satyr than you, it would be him. You’d bend our ears with tales of hunting women with him, but after three ales you two would spend the rest of the eve singing like drunken fools.”

“Still,” Phyl said, slouching as if each word deflated his soul. “He’s dead. And so is your sister.”

“She could still be alive!” Pik’s words gnashed at Phyl as sharply as his razor-like teeth. “She … she … she’s missing. Maybe ran off. But she’s not dead.”

“They’re all dead,” Zot whispered. Unblinking, he stared at the oil lantern’s flame, slowly rotating his mug with his stubby fingers. “My brothers and sisters. My cousins. My parents. Their parents. Ever since we came back to Bogosh with that stone. And it’s my fault for wanting to carry the thing. Now it’s Bale’s turn.”

Pik leaned forward and growled. “It’s not the stone.”

He leaned back again peeking over his shoulder. All eyes in the tavern were trained on Pik, Zot, and Phyl.

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