The Forging of Talahrel by Julie Rollins

Author:Julie Rollins [Rollins, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gyroscope Books
Published: 2014-12-24T22:00:00+00:00

8. Into the Tunnel

A warm line of light moved down the nearby peak as Aril crept into the sky. With ease, Cinidar cut open his dead enemy. He hungered to learn all he could about the pishtaram while he had the opportunity. While his orange-red eyes roved the exposed interior, he probed the organs with sonar. Amazed, he noted the similarities between the pishtaram and a shadook. The basic patterns of their organs were virtually identical. Cinidar remembered the shifting scents he’d smelled in his first pishtaram encounter.

I wonder …

Moving over the head, he scanned it. His sonar confirmed the presence of deep glands beneath the plated surface. The silver phantera raised his sword and made an incision into one of the glands. A dusty smoky smell rose out of the opening.

“What a strong odor,” came Rohtana’s voice.

Cinidar didn’t turn around. “Dala. Perhaps these use scent to communicate like the shadooks.” Lancing all the other glands, he imprinted their smells into his memory.

Rohtana stretched his sore wing and winced. “I wish that pishtaram hadn’t taken my rallak.”

“You couldn’t use it at this point anyway.”

“Dala, but I feel vulnerable without it.”

Cinidar turned to him. “When you are better, perhaps you will get a cirilamar rallak. You should sleep so you can heal faster.”

Rohtana’s feathered chest heaved as he sighed. “It is hard to sleep when so many interesting things are happening.”

He walked away with delicate steps, still very sore. Cinidar hoped Rohtana healed fast. Soon they would need the shadook hunter’s skill and bravery. With a resolute face, the dwarf continued his grisly butchering. He’d certainly need to bathe after this!

* * *

Dawil watched Trendal’s scaly hands stir another solution with a glass rod. The inventor dropped a piece of pishtaram plate into it. The brown fragment settled to the bottom.

“Nothing,” Trendal said with disgust. “Not a single bubble! This was the last of my acids. We’ll have to try something else.”

* * *

Cinidar’s dripping feet clutched the granite peak overlooking his valley. As he preened his damp feathers, he listened to the distant rumbling of a duca relaying the latest report. The other villages attacked last night were all raided at the same time—one pishtaram per village. Twenty-four phantera and sixteen ducas had perished! His village was the only one to kill a pishtaram. The silver phantera placed a red hand on the golden hilt of his sword.

“Yavana, I cannot be everywhere at once! How can I defend Your naharam?”

Lure your enemies into one place.

Cinidar stroked his black bill thoughtfully. He had to get the pishtarams’ undivided attention and appear to be a grave threat. It was forbidden for him to initiate an attack, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t startle those nastadals!

* * *

Standing within the granite bowl, Dawil watched Trendal adjust his mirrors. Aril’s warm rays concentrated into a blinding white circle, heating a mottled plate. The two phantera stared intently at the fragment.

“Burn, you wicked thing!” Trendal growled.

A line of smoke rose up as the plate glowed red.

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