Slithering Maze 6: Something Hungry This Way Burrows

Basysus, 23, 1278: Still on that road to Arth Prayogar, meeting an uninvited guest…

Author’s Note: Kingdom of the Slithering Maze is a serialized fiction story that is a part of a collection called the Windtracer Tales. It follows the adventures of Tela Kioni and her crew dealing with expeditions in and around the world of Awldor. There they hunt down lost, and possibly lethal, relics of the Ancient Order, a near-mythical kingdom lost to the centuries old cataclysm, the Great Collapse.

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Previously: The road to adventure is often rocky, but this time it involved a posturing centaur with too much authority. A brief, but tense conversation underlined a suspicion about the Jata auditor’s true motives. Tela and crew form a quick few ideas but these are cut short when Liru asks for patience, and the auditor coming up empty handed. But, the rocky road wasn’t done, since as if the auditor wasn’t enough, an unexpected visitor broke out the ground…

Basysus, 23, 1278: Still on that road to Arth Prayogar, meeting an uninvited guest…

I was not having a good day.

“Hells and high tides…” I whispered in shock.

Everyone stared numbly at the giant beak shoving up out of the ground. It took a moment before I found my words again.

“Threadmarrow basilisk!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Two words that no one ever wanted to hear. That got people either scrambling for weapons or just running to get out of the way.

The ground shuddered in anticipation, as the threadmarrow’s enormous snapping turtle beak shoved completely out of the ground. Everything slowed to a nasty crawl while a massive head and ram horns appeared next.

A fogbank of tan, gritty dust swallowed us. Our buffalo? They wanted none of it and tried to run, windwagon and all. Our wagon driver fought the reins in a manic attempt to keep them under some kind of control.

Most threadmarrow are huge. Those armor plated behemoths are a little over twice the height of a buffalo or a yak. So, easily a solid twelve to fifteen nindel tall, with the muscled girth to match. This one? It loomed bigger than that.

“Give it room!” Someone shouted.

“Crossbows!” yelled another Trade-Warden.

A scream of pain was cut short right after a sharp snap of that huge sandstone colored beak. I winced, finding something else to pay attention to at that moment. The beast blinked all six cloudy eyes against sunlight and dust, then frowned grumpily at everything.

Crossbow bolts shattered against the threadmarrow’s beak and body. Overlapping ochre colored plates of mineral-infused scales, slid over each other like a natural, jointed heavy armor. Despite the protection, it still flinched after each hit.

“Swords! Spears!” yelled a Trade-Warden, as if getting closer to the beast was somehow a better idea.

With a furious snarl, the threadmarrow yanked one of its massive reptile paws out of the hole with a rough lunge. Dirt, and an alarming amount of prairie ground, spewed in all directions. Rocks and grass rained everywhere.

This time when the buffalo ran, they hauled both windwagon and driver with them, nearly tramping two Trade-Wardens along the way. Eventually, the driver got them under control a good one hundred paces down the road.

It says a lot when the buffalo might be the smart ones.

I panic-ducked a flying rock, then stepped to my right.

“How is that basilisk even here?” I shouted.

“No idea!” Ki yelled back from the other side of the paved road. “Threadmarrows mostly live below ground in the High Deeplands. They rarely bother coming up here.”

“So why the hells…?” I blurted, waving my hands.

“Look out!” Mikasi interrupted, diving for the ground next to his smoke cheetah.

The threadmarrow basilisk yanked another paw free. Prairie soil rained on us again like a storm with a modest chance of boulders. We dove, ran, or rolled out of the way.

Over to my left, Kiyosi wiped the dust from his face. Somewhere else in the gritty fog, I heard Liru cough and Nurkes shout a warning before a thump. Me? I spit dirt, wiped off my goggles, then immediately dove for the grass again.

Two boulders blasted out of the fog, punching the ground to the right of my head. I fought down a manic yelp.

“All right, all this isn’t working,” I murmured, spitting dirt again.

With a rough growl, I shoved myself to my knees.

“Damn it, think!” I snapped. “This is an animal that doesn’t dig to the surface that much. So, this can’t be its territory.”

I chewed at my lower lip, frowning.

“Something happened down there that drove it up here. Maybe it’s scared? Upset? If we can calm it down, it’ll leave?”

Prairie winds cleared out the dusty fog long enough that I could see everyone and the beast. The threadmarrow was halfway out of the ground now, snapping at anything nearby. Trade-Wardens, at least those still on their hooves, had fanned out with weapons drawn. Mostly, it looked like they were trying to encourage it to go back down the hole into the Deeplands.

“How in the high tides do we calm that down?” I sighed wearily, rubbing sweaty grime from my forehead.

Suddenly, Auditor Elkerton galloped over, pushing past two Trade-Wardens to face the basilisk. A faint, smug smile at the corner of his mouth slightly compromised the centaur’s stern expression. Elkerton concentrated while he pinched the air in front of him. As his hand moved, golden threads of magic quickly trailed off his fingers.

A cold needle of fear shot through me.

Magic.

“By all the saints and gods of the sea…”

Quickly, I scrambled to my feet the moment I spoke. I didn’t know much about a threadmarrow, but I knew what he was doing was a bad idea.

“No, no, no!” I yelled, waving my hands and even the crossbow at him. “No spells!”

“Quiet!” He snapped, shooting a glare down his nose at me. With a few deft twists, he drew out the last threads he needed.

I ran at him, still waving for him to stop.

It wasn’t the mineral-layered armor that was the problem, or the threadmarrow’s size. The beast’s hide could shrug off a lot, even many magic spells, but that wasn’t the problem.

Elkerton wove a fire arrow, then shot it at the threadmarrow basilisk. The behemoth snapped its beak around the powerful explosive magic, eating it like candy. Then it gave a smoky burp.

A second later, it let out a deep, trumpeting roar before it spewed the raw, golden magic right back. Only it came with a purplish paralyzing venom.

Two unlucky Trade-Wardens directly in the path of that venom froze instantly in place. Both were encased in a thin layer of sizzling mineral crust.

“You idiot!” I yelled at Elkerton, clenching my fists. “They eat magic! Even I know that. It makes them worse!”

Elkerton might have sneered at me again, but he was busy doing a lot of galloping and screaming in the other direction. This was because the threadmarrow basilisk was now chasing him. It was feeding time, and the centaur mage was on the serving tray.

“Why?” I complained between clenched teeth. “Why do the posturing jerks always need saving?” I checked the crossbow that somehow I still carried.

Falling rocks hammered the ground around me as the threadmarrow hauled the rest of its elongated, lizard-like body out of the ground. With a deep breath, I braced myself, aimed, and then shot a crossbow bolt at the animal. Not to hurt it, but to distract it.

To no one’s surprise, the bolt shattered against the basilisk’s dusty, bloodstained beak. But the beast still stopped and blinked, no longer interested in Elkerton.

All six of its recessed, cloudy eyes now only saw me. I sighed wearily.

“Oh, here we go…”

I ran like a madwoman.

Behind me, the threadmarrow let out another bone-shaking roar, before it chased after me. It had four tree-trunk legs to my two short ones. The beast’s stride ate prairie grass and ground like it was starving.

“Wait! I changed my mind! Go eat Elkerton!” I yelled.

The threadmarrow basilisk ignored me.

I darted left, right, even leaped off a stray, dislodged boulder or four. There wasn’t anything to hide behind, but while a threadmarrow is fast in a straight line, it doesn’t turn well. I turned hard to my right, racing across the ancient paved road, trying not to flail in terror. The basilisk tried to follow, but stumbled and lost its footing. It tumbled sideways into the grass.

The ground shook like it’d been slapped, and I fell face first into the dirt. Dazed, I scrambled to my feet. The threadmarrow was already running again, almost on top of me.

“Oh, by the lady deep!”

I desperately rushed to anywhere it wasn’t.

It lashed out with its beak, snapping at the air. I could almost feel the wind of its claws brush the shirt on my back. Then a hard, warm weight of an armored person slammed me sideways into the grass. The threadmarrow basilisk charged on by, oblivious.

I felt for my head, then all my limbs in a panic. After that, I realized someone’s strong, scaled arms had me hugged against their chest.

“You’re safe, for now,” said a calm, soothing woman’s voice with a viprin’s lisp. “I’m Skarri da’Kalla, one of Samal Liru’s temple guards.”

“Yes, you are,” I stammered, gasping dirty air while I stared at the yellow-gold tattoos on her cobra-like face. “Good catch.”

“You’re welcome. Conversation later,” she replied with a bemused smirk. “Now. How do we stop the beast?”

Nearby, the threadmarrow belted out another roar, taking off in a scrabble across the prairie grass. Three Trade-Wardens galloped ahead, trying to lead it back to the massive hole.

I got to my feet, then helped Skarri upright onto her snake tail. Kiyosi, Mikasi, and Nicodemus ran over a second later.

“This is so wrong,” Ki moaned. “This shouldn’t be happening.”

I raised a suspicious eyebrow at him, trying in vain to slap dust off my brown canvas vest. My once white shirt was likely a lost cause, as were my tan trousers. The whole effort made me look like a walking dust mound.

“In so many ways it shouldn’t,” I replied with a level look. “Ki, I can tell you know something. What is it?”

He nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Threadmarrows are supposedly docile, even in a place as dangerous as the Deeplands where they’re from,” he explained.

Then he waved a hand toward the basilisk as he continued.

“There just isn’t anything big enough to bother them. They only get like this if provoked, or in pain.”

I rubbed my nose below my goggles and clenched my jaw, hearing him confirm what worried me.

“Oh, really?” Miksai said quickly. “Then we just need to calm it down! What does it like?”

Not far away, the surviving Trade-Wardens were trying, and failing, to corral the threadmarrow basilisk. I suspected poking spears at it wasn’t helping.

“Well,” a dark navy flush colored his dirt-stained blue cheeks, “a few things. They’ll eat magic like candy. Everyone knows that part.”

“… almost everyone,” I replied dryly with a sour look at Elkerton, who was off shouting orders.

Ki ignored me.

“They also like giant Deepland mushrooms.” He paused, looking a little more sheepish. “But, from what I’ve read, threadmarrows are most drawn to caves, quiet places, no one shouting at them, and… sweetbread.”

I stared at him, open-mouthed.

“Come again?” I said once I found my words. “Sweetbread? Are you serious right now?”

Kiyosi glanced over at the behemoth, nodding emphatically.

“Yes, sweetbread. Like muffins.” As if this would help, he winced, while adding. “They’re usually pretty shy? Normally, they don’t attack people.”

We stared at him like he’d grown a third eye.

“What?” Kiyosi shrugged. “I read Sergio Panelli’s book about them. The Legends of the Deeplands. He studied them for two years.”

I sighed, then maybe groaned. Probably both. But somehow, a plan took shape in my mind. I quickly explained my stupid idea to the others.

“We…?” Kiyosi stammered, before running a hand over his face. “Oh gods. All right, I brought it up after all. I’ll run down the windwagon.”

“You know, I think I’ve just the thing,” Mikasi murmured, searching the pockets of his tool-laden, leather-trimmed vest.

“This… seems unusually reckless,” Skarri said skeptically while her eyebrow ridges bunched together.

“Only a little bit,” I replied with a slight wince. “This plan has nothing to do with throwing myself out a window or off a cliff. So, it’s a better plan than most?”

When no one replied, I rubbed my hands together.

“Everyone ready? Let’s go!”

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Windtracer Tales is a work of pure, unashamed fiction. In fact, it considers itself rather fancy and quite proud of itself. Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.

Also! Windtracer Tales and Windtracer: Adventures in Awldor is written with much respect to Starfarertheta and their work on the other half of Awldor.