by Lucas, Naomi
Astegur slammed the sharp edge of his axe into the goblin’s skull. Blood gushed up and over the weathered metal of his weapon before he dislodged it from the goblin’s body and let the blood spray across the clearing. Now that the last of them were dead, and the broken bodies at his hooves no longer twitched, he flicked his weapon clean. The mist cavorted and danced over the gore as it feasted.
He had been tracking this group of goblins for miles, hoping they would bring him closer to their leader, but this group no longer belonged to a tribe according to the dead goblin he just killed. This wasn’t the first band of goblins he’d felled, nor his second. They were scampering about, lost and scattered all along the barrier lands.
Astegur turned back to the defeated and looted what he could from their corpses: minerals, herbs, and other such trinkets. Nothing could be wasted, not in a place like this.
A trinket burned him and he cursed, letting it drop to the ground. He wiped his sweaty palm over his chest until the ache went away.
One of the fallen hobgoblins caught his eye. Astegur walked over to the corpse. He reached the dead husk and pulled open the satchel at its side. Several vials fell out. He sifted through them, picked one up, and uncorked it, sniffing its contents.
Blimwort and orc blood filled his nose, along with Enios water and…pure human blood? His eyes widened and he gripped his axe handle tighter. There was no allegiance between his brothers and the hobgoblins that ran rampant over the southern lands, but if they were aligned with the orcs and the orcs had enough access to human blood that they traded it with the goblins…
He needed to tell his brothers.
Trouble was brewing in the land they sought to claim.
Learning the news of Burlox’s fall had been a setback. With it now gone, there was only one other area that sacrifices now came from.
Thetras.
The very spot the Bathyr had their eyes on to rule. With the loss of Burlox, southern tribes had lost their supply of humans, leaving Thetras the next closest place to procure them regularly.
We did not come to these lands to serve a lesser power. The Enios centaurs ruled the South. Smoke leaked from his nostrils. They will move north to claim Thetras. He had already encountered several warbands moving upward for that exact reason.
Astegur corked the vial and placed it back into the satchel with the others before he took the bag and slung it over his shoulder.
He left the bloodstained clearing without looking back. If the orcs and goblins were truly aligned, that did not bode well for him. It didn’t bode well for anyone. If they aligned, it would be harder for him and his brothers to kill them, to conquer this land.
It appeared that more than one faction played for the sacrificial zones on the western borders of Savadon. War was imminent.
A drum sounded in the distance and his lips twisted into a sneer. He quieted his steps and ignored it although the weight of his battleaxe urged him to turn back and wet it with gore once again.
It was near dusk when he came upon the cliffs at the edge of the labyrinth walls. The same cliffs that overlooked the swamps and the wetlands between the walls and the mountains where his tribe staked their claim to the north and west. Where his brother Vedikus prowled.
If he listened closely he could hear the rushing water far down below where the waterways of the Enios sea became the wetlands.
He turned away from the endless haze and jumped down to a lower ledge of the cliff. He found the crevice that hid his camp along the rocky wall and slid into it. When he was well within the shallow cave, he pulled out a piece of blisterbark and blew on it, sparking it with his breath alone.
The cave, his belongings, and the firepit emerged within the weak light.
With a flick of his tail and a grunt, he set the blisterbark in the middle of the firepit and added several larger pieces to it that he had stored off to the side earlier. The cave was barely big enough to accommodate him standing, let alone him lying down, but it had been his home for the past several weeks.
From here, he could hear the call go out when Thetras made a sacrifice. He could hear creatures pass by above him. The cave kept him hidden and protected while he rested and that was all that mattered.
The smoke from the fire quickly rose to the top of the cave and gathered around his head. Now and then a surge of wind from the outside would blow through and clear it out.
He shucked off the goblin satchel and added it to the other items he had pilfered over the previous weeks. He made room for himself next to the flames and pulled out his bone bowl from his stash. With water from a separate pouch, he put the bowl over the flames and made a meal of barghest meat and roots. The sustenance calmed his bloodlust, the meat replenished his strength, and the smoke from the fire filled his pores. It began to rain outside and the fall of water filled his ears.
Astegur leaned back against the jagged cave wall and placed his axe upon his lap, ready for battle, even in rest.
A heaviness settled over him. He pushed the memories of the day to the back of his skull. The crackle of burning bark soothed like a midnight melody in his head.
His eyes had just begun to lower when a blast of magic slammed into his skull, disturbing his rest.
“Come to me,” a hushed feminine voice beckoned.
He tensed and straightened, not quite certain if he had heard the voice at all.
“Come to me.”
The power of it hit him again and thrust him back against the wall. Someone, something, sought him out, although he did not sense danger.
“Never,” he gritted, letting it be known to any ghosts that watched him that he was not their savior.
Whoever he denied apparently did not listen to him as another wave of magic fell over his flesh, like a wet rag covering his skin. Astegur breathed in, and his nostrils filled with the smell of moist soil and a strange, citric sweetness that startled him. It smelled like human blood. It smelled like a witch. Very fresh, very alive, fruity human witch. Pure or not, he couldn’t be sure. It also smelled like the wetlands below.
His hearts pounded.
Suddenly, the roar of thunder crashed into the shallow cave, and the sound echoed all around him, threatening to shatter his skull. The ground shook and rumbled.
He squeezed his eyes shut as something itchy and invisible clouded them. Behind his closed eyelids, he saw the image of a warband of centaurs riding straight for him, their spears in the air, slicing the mist in two.
He was on his hooves with his weapon before him in the next instant, forcing his eyes back open despite the pain.
A young female now stood before him instead.
The vision of the centaur army faded into the background.
Astegur stiffened, his hand poised over his weapon, ready to strike. His nostrils flared as a fresh wave of human blood tantalized him, stopping him from striking the intruding female down. He still could not tell if it was tainted or not.
She was pale white, wraithlike, and had the appearance of an innocence dirtied. She was dirty. The female wore a faded brown dress that he assumed had likely been white at one point. Despite her clothes, her face was mostly clean, save for some smudges. Her raven black hair fell in long tangles behind her.
Her eyes ensnared him as smoke filled the cave. They were harrowing, desolate. Devouring. They were the same color as the dirt beneath his hooves and much older than his own. This female had seen, and survived, the despoilment of this world and had managed to live. Some eyes were young, some eyes were sly, but hers...hers ensorcelled his.
Astegur reared his head back. Magic. The smell of blood vanished.
She reeked of magic, and try as he might, he could no longer smell the fresh human blood in the air. He raised his battleaxe to destroy her. Whoever this female was, she was either born on his side of the wall or was on the verge of becoming a thrall herself.
What a waste.
Somewhere far away, yet incredibly close, the thunder of the encroaching centaurs buil
t to a crescendo. The sound melded into a cacophony of war-cries and the clatter of shells clinking against weapons and armor. It was moving ever closer. Yet, he could not tear his gaze off of the female. He did not want her to disappear. Not yet. Even if she were a ghost seeking vengeance and with blood that no longer held power. Even though battle called to him at his back. Her gaze had captured him, and for the first time, remorse filled him.
This female could have been mine, if I had not failed to procure her...
He slipped his fingers across the blade of his weapon, fighting his instinct to destroy her and the magic she had brought to his cave.
“What are you doing here, ghost?” he asked, but his voice melded into the approaching war party below or above. He could not tell. “Who are you?”
The smoke from the fire swirled through and out of her image. “Come to me.”
He stepped toward her, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Who are you?” he asked again, his patience thinning. “I have slayed beings for lesser offenses.”
She responded by hugging herself tighter, her face tensing and slackening as if she fought through pain. Her response to him, to death itself, was unusual.
“Were you after the goblins I killed? Are you after something the goblins had? Why are you haunting me now?” If the goblins brutalized her before her death—raped and tortured her—her ghost might still remain as a stain. He may have picked something up her spirit was attached to.
He glanced at his loot and crouched slowly, sliding his hand toward his satchels in search of such an object when her eyes finally met his again under the black veil of her hair.
His hand stilled.
She stared at him, piercing him, through the smoke and haze, with her gaze. The heat in his body built. His sneer morphed into a frown. He searched her face. He realized now, it was twisted much like his, but with pain.
“East, closer to the labyrinth wall,” the female finally said. Her voice was musical and soft.
“What...is East?”
“The rest of the goblins you are looking for, and the answer to the question of those vials you found filled with human and orc blood.”
She answered a question he did not ask aloud. “Are you seeking vengeance for your death?”
“I’m not dead. Not yet.”
Not dead. Not...dead. He brimmed with excitement. “Then why are you here, if you are not bound to something I picked up from the goblins I killed?” he asked, eager now for information, anything that might lead him to her. His curiosity was piqued. The need to sniff her out grew.
She knew about the orcs and goblins, and possibly information about the leaders of the local tribes. Knowledge his brothers needed. She could know more.
“Come to me,” the female said again and nothing more.
He snarled. He rose and reached for her, but his fingers passed through her arm, through air.
She huddled next to the fire, practically atop the flames. Her arms were curled tight across her stomach and he watched as she slid down the back of the wall and bent her knees toward her chest. The longer he watched her, towering over her in the small space of his cave, the more he knew that she was not frightened of him. Anger coursed through his veins.
She should be frightened. I should terrify her.
“Come where?” he asked, feeling he had to continue the conversation for it to end.
She began to fade before his question ended, and his throat tightened. Astegur growled and more smoke added itself to the murky cave. He could not help her. For all he knew, she really was a ghost. Or a trick of the mist, or worse, fairies. He did not care for the welfare of anything in this world but for himself, his brothers and the future lands they planned to conquer.
Suddenly, something thick and invisible wrapped itself around his throat. An itch formed at the tips of his fingers where they had passed through her arm.
He shook the feeling off.
“Please,” she said, her voice laced with torment and urgency. Her ghost nearly gone from this world.
He realized he did not want her to vanish, even if she was nothing more than a trick. He surged forward to grasp at her again but it was too late. Like before, his hands fell through smoke and came out on the other end clutching nothing.
She was gone as quickly as she appeared, taking the sound of the centaur war party with her.
Astegur roared and slammed his battleaxe right into the rock of the cave, feeling his muscles bulge out and harden as if preparing for an attack. She’s gone.
“Tricks,” he growled. “Bleeding magic by tainted mist beasts.” He spat.
One could see a great many things in the mist, but not all of it was real. Delirium had a way of holding onto the weak of mind—especially when the air itself was cursed. Magic infused everything here. No one trusted it, even if they used it. Respect was like that sometimes.
He grabbed his weapon, yanked it out of the wall, and wiped the dirt and dust from the blade. He looked back toward the fire, searching for the female despite already knowing she would not be there. Fake or not, trick or truth, her plea had seemed real.
He watched the fire for a time, pondering.
She had been unearthly and weak, but weak-looking beings were often the strongest in the labyrinth. They used their appearance as a lure to separate the strong from their tribes. His brothers would not agree, but unlike them, he found it important to study and learn everything he could about the world. He asked questions where the rest of his brothers did not. It was his job to know.
It was why he was out in the world instead of rebuilding their tribe.
Astegur grabbed one of the hobgoblin satchels he collected and tossed it into the fire, it was time to finish the day and say last blood rites to all those he had killed.
“I offer the dead to you.” He lowered his head, his horns facing the flames that came up to lick them. “May this plunder and sacrifice feed you, and if by your allowance, may the sparks of the dead reach the light and their bodies remain unused by the mist.” He settled back when he was done, uncaring whether or not the mist used their bodies.
His thoughts returned to the female and the distant war party.
If it wasn’t a trick, then the centaurs may be on the move. If that were so, it meant two things: they were leaving their lands unprotected, and the only direction they could go was west or north… And if it were north, they would be heading through the wetlands that bordered the mountains of his home.
But he already knew that...
Astegur lapped at his fingers to alleviate the itch growing under his skin. It was the only thing that remained of the entire incident.
He closed his eyes and put the bleak day behind him.
Tomorrow, he would make his way back home and tell his brothers of all that he had learned. They would gather their weapons and potions and take control of the lands they had traveled far to claim.
It was time to go to war.
He pressed his pained hand to his chest as his eyelids lowered.
Chapter Two
Astegur had not eaten for days, consumed with an itch that had clouded his mind, his senses. It had started with his fingers, and from there, had expanded to the rest of his body. To his skull.
If he didn’t find a cure fast, he knew his mind would surely go next.
It had all began the moment the female in his cave had vanished. Whether the pain had been caused by her or not, he couldn’t be sure, but he cursed his inability to stop it. He cursed that the pain was a reminder of her delicate phantom. That he couldn’t quite convince himself that she had been a beguilement of the mind. So when the pain increased with every inhalation and made his eyes glaze over in torment, he saw the figure of a moon-skinned female out of the corners of his eyes.
Astegur shook his head and attempted to expel the female from his thoughts.
His hooves sank into the marsh waters, and the fur on his legs dripped with it. Each step had momentum, each step fell blindly forward—far
away from the goblins he had been hunting, and the scouting his tribe needed. He had done his work, surveying the area and the creatures within it. Now, he needed to bring that information back to his brothers, because if there was an alliance between orcs and goblins, it needed to be quelled quickly. Both races propagated at an alarming rate. And if they had humans to help them along...
He thought of the blood vials in his satchel and he snarled, reaching back to dig his hand into it. There were three left out of the six he had started with. He uncorked the one in his hand, brought it to his mouth, and drank, licking his lips and his teeth to make sure all of its contents had been consumed.
It numbed the itch, if only for a time.
More delirium. More pain. Its relentless intent squeezed his soul. Nothing could stop him and his new quest. Each and every beast that he had come upon had swiftly died as he trekked unhindered across the lands. A minotaur, even wounded, was not easy prey. He wanted to strike out now and coat himself in the entrails of the dead. Maybe the blood would soothe his skin?
A wet, chilly breeze blew over his flesh, bringing with it the smells of his surroundings. Astegur raised his head and inhaled, knowing the pain it would bring. His nostrils flared. The wind brought new death and decay and the blood his delirious mind yearned for.
There was minotaur blood. Centaurs…and human blood in the air.
He stopped.
It was another unexpected scent and he could not make sense of it. Hope alighted his flesh. The last time he smelled something so rich and delicious had been in the cave, for a brief moment, before the damning female had appeared. He scanned his surroundings and searched the mist. He was desperate for more of the blood.
But as he breathed it in again, the smell altered, becoming clogged, old. It wasn’t fresh blood. It was fading and did not have as sweet of a scent.
Murky, green orbs of light appeared before him, each one farther away than the last. He had seen them before when he first left the mountains and sought the labyrinth wall, but he had avoided them—he knew a hag lived here. There was an ancient path that led from the old, fallen village all the way up to where his brothers dwelled now. But this had been Vedikus’s terrain, not his, and he had left it to his elder brother to deal with.
