Twice Drowned Dragon (The Gryphonpike Chronicles Book 2) by Annie Bellet

Twice Drowned Dragon
    Men’s screams pierced the lazy summer air. I shrugged out of my pack, stopping only long enough to re-sling my quiver over my shoulder. Behind me, I heard the thuds signaling my companions were doing the same.
    The Barrowroad, which was really a wide and often muddy dirt track, took a turn just ahead, cutting through a grove of bog cypress that reached depressed branches down to comb the road. Drake, his rapier in his left hand and his kukri in his right, ran past me. Makha cursed and clanked up behind, her plate armor glinting in the sun and her shield unslung. She hadn’t buckled her helmet yet and her red hair twisted around her face in sweaty tangles. Overhead I heard the whoosh of Rahiel’s wings as the pixie-goblin sorceress took off. Azyrin, our half-winter-orc shaman, came up along side Makha and I, his falchion in one hand as the other clasped his amulet.
    We turned the bend in the road at a jog. Ahead, the trees and brush of the swamp shook and the screams intensified.
    “Men, four of them, no, five,” Rahiel shouted down from far overhead. “Just off the road. And… huge spiders!”
    “Has to be thumpbrained spiders,” Makha muttered. “Thought the Barrows was supposed to be full of undead. Somethin’ worth fighting.”
    “I am certain those men will be glad for help,” Azyrin said.
    Drake disappeared into the trees and I followed him down a much wetter, muddier track. Ahead, another scream, this one cut short. Then the cart and its occupants came into view among the mossy trees. One man lay groaning to the side of the cart. Another, wearing much finer clothing than the others, was crouched behind a dead mule still tangled in the harness and tracers. Two others were trying to fend off the spiders using a pickaxe and a sword that hadn’t seen proper care in many winters.
    Rahiel hadn’t exaggerated. The two spiders were as big as two horses each with spiny protrusions on their legs and vicious, dripping mandibles. The smell of blood, bile, and something more rotten underneath cut through the thick swamp air and made my eyes water.
    I drew Thorn, my bow, back until the fletching brushed my lips. My first arrow slammed into the nearest spider’s thorax and its blood spurted, sending thick black droplets onto the mud. The spider hissed and reared back, slashing out with its clawed front legs.
    “Out o’ the way! Get back!” Drake shouldered a bleeding man aside. His kukri bit deep into the spider’s leg, leaving the claw hanging by a gristly margin. Blood sizzled on his blade but I barely registered what it might mean.
    I loosed a second arrow past Drake’s shoulder as he ducked another leg swipe. My shot went slightly wide, skidding over the hardened carapace armoring its legs. My next shot took it in the thorax again, this time drenching Drake in the black fluid.
    He screamed and leapt back, smoke rising from his clothing. Splinters , their blood would just have to be corrosive .
    Azyrin shouted behind me, and shimmering light bathed Drake, coating his dark skin. His swearing ceased, as did the smoking of his clothes. Blue bolts sizzled down from Rahiel as she flew closer, bursting in the eyes of the injured spider. Its companion darted in and I opened my mouth, trying to yell warning.
    Nausea hit me like a giant’s mace to the chest. No communicating. That is my curse. I am mute, and even trying to mouth words or gesture overtly causes horrible pain and nausea to overtake me. Gasping and gagging, I dropped to my knees, leaning hard on Thorn.
    My collapse distracted Makha from her charge and she half-turned. She was the only one who could have possibly reached the second spider in time. Drake dodged the flailing legs of the injured spider but ducked right into the path of the second.
    It had apparently had enough. It shot a gout of sticky white fluid at Drake, catching him in the chest. Without waiting, the spider leapt forward, grabbed the trapped rogue up in two of its