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

off with a handful of muddy leaves. The metal was pocked by the acid, but looked otherwise undamaged. “Azy stayed with those men?” she asked Rahiel.
    “Yes. We took care of that other spider.” Rahiel turned Bill and started heading back.
    “Heal my ass. What if it never grows back?” Drake muttered. “The ladies’ll weep.”
    Makha and I both shot him a look and then set out after Rahiel.
    Azyrin had the wounded man loaded onto the cart by the time we walked back. The man who had been cowering behind the dead mule was cowering no more; instead, he was arguing with our shaman.
    “Thank you for your help, adventurer. But we’re fine. Garl and Pibbsen will find that other pesky mule and we’ll be on our way.”
    “What’s the problem?” Makha asked, coming up alongside her husband.
    “I offered escort to Coldragon. This man, he say no.” Azyrin’s blue lips were pressed into an annoyed line. I got the impression the man had said more than no. It took a lot to annoy the very patient half-orc.
    The two men who had tried to defend against the spiders earlier reappeared, one leading a sweat-soaked mule. A wide, shallow cut marred the mule’s shoulder and I guessed he had panicked in the traces when they were attacked, cutting himself as he bolted free. Why they hadn’t all tried to run for the main road, I didn’t know. Apparently this was the only creature among them with sense. Typical humans and their bravado .
    “Thank ye for your help,” the older of the two men said gruffly. They both ducked their heads and then went to the front of the cart, one pulling a knife and starting to free the dead mule from the tangle of harness.
    The mule rolled the whites of his eyes at the smoldering corpse of the first spider but the man in fine clothing took its lead and it instantly quieted, the muscles beneath its dun hide going tense and very still.
    “We were planning to detour to the honey monks, but it’s truly no trouble to go straight on to Coldragon. If spiders like that will come attack in broad daylight, no telling what else might wander out of the swamps. Mister, eh. . .?” Drake put on his bright smile and held out one mostly clean hand.
    The man sneered down his thin nose and folded his arms. Rings glinted on half his fingers, the gems looking warmer than the man’s eyes. “Master Ziarnys,” he said, emphasizing the title as though it meant more than just that he was probably an elder in his town. “Go on to the honey monks. I am quite sure we require no more assistance.”
    He turned away and started directing the men in hooking the remaining mule up to the cart as though the five of us weren’t standing here. Undaunted, Drake pulled out a flask and stepped up to the back of the cart where the injured man rested against a pile of empty burlap sacks, his hand pressed against a crude bandage over his belly.
    “That an elf?” the man asked with a nervous glance at me as he waved away the offered flask. “And what’s she, eh? In the gown with the wings? And is that a pink unicorn? Awful teeny, ain’t it?”
    “Shh, don’t tell him that.” Drake winked at the man which coaxed a wan smile from him. “You a mason?” Drake asked then, motioning to the shovels, spades, and other work equipment piled in the back of the cart. The whole of it was coated with grey rock dust, like one might expect from a work site.
    “Aye, we’re, uh,” the man started to say, but then his eyes widened and he put one hand to his throat with a groan.
    “We no longer require you here. If you want to get to the honey monks by sunset, you should move along.” Master Ziarnys came back around the cart and the air turned a few degrees colder.
    My fingers twitched toward my quiver and I tightened my grip on my bow. Something strange was going on here. Humans were usually a little suspicious of our ragtag band, but the Adventuring Guild medallions hanging at our belts or around our necks generally assuaged the fears of all