Garahk stepped up beside his mate, brushing a foreleg against hers. “You must share your words, Three-Arm. Give us your story, so we may know all.”
Urkot was tempted to say he was too tired for stories. He wanted nothing more than to go into the den and see his mate, but as he looked at his friends, his family, gathered around him, he knew he could not do so.
They had suffered in his and Callie’s absence, and the thornskulls had lost beloved kin. They had grieved and known pain. They needed to hear what had happened so they could heal.
And more than that, the threat of the spiritstriders was much too close for him to leave it unspoken any longer. Garahk and Nalaki needed to know so they could act to ensure Kaldarak’s safety.
So Urkot shared his words, shared the story. He told them of the collapse, of dragging himself and Callie from the rubble, of discovering Zotahl. Told them about the tunnel they’d found themselves in, and how it appeared to have been carved out by vrix hands, weakening the floor of the crystal garden above.He told them about their trek through the dark, about the spiritstriders that lurked there.
That drew alarmed sounds from the vrix who were listening, though it meant nothing to the humans.
“I knew the whispers were always true,” Rekosh said.
“How could you have known that?” demanded Telok.
Ketahn regarded Rekosh with his head cocked. “Those were tales to frighten us as broodlings.”
“For ours as well,” said Garahk, concern apparent in his voice.
Rekosh displayed his hands, palms up. “Every tale, even the most unlikely, begins with a thread of truth.”
Urkot thumped the wood planks beneath him with a leg. “I wish it had been a different thread.”
“How many spiritstriders down there, Three-Arm?” Garahk asked, leaning toward Urkot. “Can you say?”
“Many. More than a hundred, I think. They live in a place that may have once been a shadowstalker city.”
Ketahn’s eyes flared, and Telok’s mandibles twitched high, his body tense.
Rekosh eased closer and gently tapped Urkot’s foreleg. “I must wring every detail from you after you have rested.”
“I am sure you will.” Urkot turned his attention to Nalaki and Garahk. “Spiritstriders chased us to the surface when we fled. The sun was too bright for them. They retreated after a fight, but I do not know if they tried to track us after dark.”
Nalaki let out a thoughtful hum, eyes troubled. “Do you believe they will see what you did as giving war to their kind?”
“I cannot guess that. Though they speak, I did not know most of their words, and it is not words they wanted to share with us. They gave only fangs, claws, and death. We were prey to them.”
“We must keep close watch,” Garahk said to Nalaki.
“But we must not give war, not unless they do,” she replied evenly. “Kaldarak will not do as the Blooddrinker Queen and make war without cause. If they leave us in peace, we will grant them the same.”
Garahk looked at Urkot. “Where did you emerge from understone?”
As best he could, Urkot described how to reach the cave, adding, “I will lead you there, to be sure it is found.”
Nalaki snapped her mandible fangs. “You will rest. That is my command asdaiya.”
Urkot tapped a knuckle to his headcrest. “Then I must obey.”
“I will gather a party,” Garahk declared.
His mate turned toward him, dipped her head, and touched headcrests with him. “Stride with care, my heartsflame.”
“Always, mydaiya.”
“Come. I will see you off.” She straightened and walked side-by-side with Garahk toward the bridge leading off the platform. Over her shoulder, she said, “Send word of Callie as soon as you know.”
Urkot lowered himself onto the platform, allowing his legs to rest. His friends, human and vrix alike, remained nearby him, save for Cole, who headed up to the higher platforms, returning a short while later with a waterskin.
