“C’mon, Fury! Full speed ahead!”
Snarling, more exhausted than I was, Fury charged forward. Her legs, adapted to this terrain, made it possible to walk across the snowy blanket without falling deeply into it. Still, the snow hindered us; devouring the already insignificant remnants of strength. Looking around, I couldn’t see our pursuers, but I had no doubt that we had been discovered. However, the mountains were getting closer. The familiar outlines of the rocky slopes emerged from the gusts of snow, and then the dark entrance of the cave appeared. Just a little more. I hoped that I would get to see the Lowlings before a Dion makes a shish-kebab out of me. After all, the camp was never left unattended...
Damn, I forgot that it was the night shift, and that I would meet the Okhtans instead! But I had no other choice. I could only hope that the Dalrokt’s influence wouldn’t allow them to finish me off. The Dions, on the contrary, had no such moral obligations.
“Come on, Fury, dear, almost there!”
Chapter 29
Answering my mental plea, the Direcat wheezed. Even though she was using whatever remained of her strength, she didn’t slow down. And yet, the tramping of hooves behind our backs was growing louder. I could already feel the enemies swinging their damn spears to thrust them between my shoulder blades...
Fortunately, we flew into the safety of the tunnel before any of that could’ve happened. I ducked sharply so as not to hit my head against the low arch, and then I had to jump off of Fury. Limping, I ran on right after her. A spike of excruciating pain pierced my thigh, and my left shin ached in protest. Swearing silently, I pushed on; the tramping of the hooves was already echoing throughout the cave. The stubborn freaks refused to go away and were at my heels.
Finally, we reached the camp.
I felt my heart go right through my feet. One glance was enough to understand that my worst fears became reality. At the hearth, lined with stones that burned in the middle of the cave, water gurgled in the cauldron on the tripod. A carcass of a dead animal was lying next to it. Not a single living soul was in the hall! I had to die only because these damn idiots weren’t good at performing their duties?! Or did they just run away cowardly, having heard the noise in the tunnel?!
Roaring in despair like a wild beast pursued by hunters, I jumped over the hearth and turned to face my pursuers. I had no strength left in me and I saw no point in trying to run. Breathing heavily, Fury stood beside me. My beast was shaking with fatigue; ribs, visible through the furless skin, looked as if they were about to burst free. With a trembling palm, I gratefully stroked her head, barely feeling my cold fingers. There was no time to grab a bolo, which was unlikely to help me without the appropriate skill anyway. Feeling the danger, Tinnie stirred under the jacket, looked out and soared over my shoulder, her wings buzzing weakly. The look she had was not at all battle-ready; she looked exhausted. She was not on, but well past the threshold of her ability to keep herself in the air. While alive, my pets would never betray me or let me down, but I had no more Crystals left to feed them with...
And, unlike me, they wouldn’t be able to respawn.
I should die alone.
“Fury, Tinnie.” Heavy spear in hand, I almost toppled over as I weakly moved in their direction. “Run for the Fortress. Wait there for my return...”
But I was too late with giving that order. A Dion charged into the hall. The fur clothing and leather armor made it seem larger than it was, but even without that, our physical conditions were worlds apart. Huge and muscular, the top of its head almost touched the ceiling of the cave. How did something that big manage to chase me through the tunnel?!
The Dion let out a guttural shout and swung its short sword threateningly. The distance was too big for a strike, but it seemed to be in no hurry to cross the ten feet that separated us. It just glared at me through the eye slits on the leather mask, eyes burning with angry excitement...
A sword? So this was the same malicious individual that had pierced my leg with a spear? And now they arrived to get their weapon back and rid themselves of the disgrace among their kin?! In all cultures, a warrior who had lost their weapon is not worthy of respect. Intuition forced me to restrain Fury, who had almost rushed forward, and throw my unarmed hand up.
“Stop! I’m not your enemy! We can talk it th-...”
The Dion stopped yelling, but didn’t lower its sword, although it was obvious that my remark had confused it. Do they even understand the language of the outcasts?
I didn’t have time to find out.
Shadows emerged seemingly out of nowhere, rushing at the Dion from both sides and soaring into the air. Everything happened so fast that I had no way time to intervene and stop the attackers. Short blades flashed. Blood splattered. Gently landing onto their feet from opposite sides after a synchronized jump, two Okhtans turned around gracefully and assumed their battle stances. However, that wasn’t necessary. The Dion dropped the sword, clutched the cut throat, wheezed, staggered and fell. The weight of its carcass shook the stone floor and raised a cloud of dust.
Involuntarily taking a couple of steps forth, I froze. Numb fingers squeezed the heavy spear, the pursuit of which got the previous owner killed... I had to admit, the yellow-faced assholes had excellent camouflage. Caraster’s four were in the camp. Hearing the noise, they didn’t run away, they just turned invisible... I still couldn’t understand how that worked. How did they make others look away? Was it hypnosis or something? Mashta could do something similar, but she couldn’t explain how it worked. Or maybe she didn’t want to explain.
Screpis and Otex, the ones who killed the Dion, grabbed the carcass by the hand and dragged it away from the fire. Its head landed into the fire and nearly knocked the pot over; the horned leather helmet was already smoking and had almost caught fire. The other two, Caraster and Molek, who didn’t take part in the fight, were sitting on the stones, looking relaxed as if nothing special had happened. This was, most likely, an ordinary occurrence for them. Finishing off a Dion wasn’t that big of a deal...
While they looted anything that had at least some value off the corpse, I stood there, waiting for them to finish and decide what to do with me. For some reason they pretended that no one else was around. Did they think me lesser then them? Was that why they looked at me with contempt and were giving me the cold shoulder? Was I, too, a corpse for them? Oh, fuck you all.
Spitting on conventions, I tossed myself onto a stone bed covered with worn out skins that was just a step away from me. With a sorrowful sigh, Fury lay down on the dusty floor near my feet. Tinnie landed onto my shoulder, fell back and stretched, closing her eyes and surrendering herself to exhaustion. Their reactions suggested that there was no immediate threat from the Okhtans, but I still couldn’t take my wary stare away off them. I’ll fall into a coma like state the moment I do so. It was not yet the right time to sleep. Things were still up in the air at the moment. I didn’t believe that the rest of the Dions would break in, since the camp was an ideal place for defense. More than one enemy couldn’t squeeze through the passage, and the guards had just spectacularly demonstrated how to get rid of intruders. It wasn’t a battle, but a cold-blooded, well-worked out murder. The rest of the Dions had the sense to abandon the chase.
So, the Okhtans saved my skin.
But I was in no hurry to express my gratitude. If they decide to use the same trick on me, then nothing would help me. These were not some stupid mobs from some stupid lair... My arsenal was empty, I was almost out of both stamina and energy, and they were much higher level than me. I stood no chance against them. But I could try at least. To run away, that is. I was fed up with heroic fights.
“The armor is rubbish,” hissed Caraster, finally breaking the tense silence. Looking up from the Dion, he picked up the pre-cooked pieces of meat from a flat stone and threw them into the gurgling pot; he then poured something into the water from a bag that was hanging on his belt. I smelled mushrooms. Strange. The Lowlings had assured me that the Ok
htans would eat anything and that they didn’t have any cooks. This somewhat peaceful picture somehow didn’t fit in with the image that I had previously had of them.
“Of course it’s rubbish,” Molek said lazily with a phlegmatic look on his face, cleaning his nails with the tip of his dagger. “Who would entrust good armor to a youngling? Venturous. Stupid. The Dions don’t protect their young well.”
Caraster finally turned his ugly, and too narrow by human standards, face to look at me. His irises were colorless. Despite the pale twilight light that had snuck into the cave, dispersed only by the light from the hearth, Okhtan pupils didn’t dilate in the dark like those of humans, retaining the shape of tiny dots, black as a pinprick. God almighty, their facial expressions differed tremendously from the human ones that I was used to. I couldn’t figure out what feelings they were expressing. They blinked their empty and lifeless eyeballs, their faces like frozen masks. The muscles of their cheekbones and lips moved only when they were conversing. Alien character was an even darker place. But I couldn’t just stand up and leave now. For some reason I felt that that would be a wrong thing to do and that it would end up badly for my already bad health.
“Look, he doesn’t know what to say,” Caraster said impassively, continuing to stare at me as if he was examining a rickety stool and wondering whether to throw it away immediately, or let it serve for now.
“The shorties intimidated him,” said Molek in the same flat tone, using his dagger to clean yet another nail, gray and shiny, like a polished metal scale.
“We’re terrible,” Screpis added, stripping a piece of cloth off the horse part of the Dion’s body and throwing it near me. The gift wasn’t for me, but for the bedding. I sluggishly put it next to me. I hadn’t had the slightest desire to rise. The slightest of movements made me feel like a wreck. At least the tension was slowly disappearing.
“He listened to the lying morons,” Otex agreed calmly, looking at the earring he held between his fingers, which he had torn off the ear of the defeated enemy.
What were they on about? What do they have against the Lowlings?
“A youngling only because it’s level seventeen?” I cautiously asked for clarification. Being silent was unbearable. My own voice seemed as raspy as theirs.
“Behold, he speaks!” Caraster exchanged glances with the others and all four started hissing silently. Chills ran down my spine. Is that...? Is that how they laugh?! Creepy. I felt much closer to the Lowlings than these... creatures.
“Look at his face, human. Yes, it’s a male of its species,” Screpis advised and lectured, interrupting the “laughter” and abruptly pulling the leather helmet off the Dion’s head.
The head was one and a half times larger than a human one, corresponding to the creature’s overall large build. The facial features caused a lasting sensation of déjà vu... It wasn’t as weird as Okhtan faces. But the bulging superciliary arches, the broad nose bridge, the copper-colored skin with stripes of dark red pigmentation, and some kind of childish surprise, frozen in those large, wide-open eyes with a yellow iris reminded me of something... It couldn’t be. I remembered the creatures from James Cameron’s Avatar. Switch the copper for blue skin with dark blue stripes and you’ll get the exact appearance of Pandora’s native dwellers. The humanoid part of them, at least. What an odd coincidence.
“So, what’s wrong with his face?” I asked, looking at Screpis, and trying to cope with amazement.
“He doesn’t get it.” Another wave of hissing was followed by an exchange of glances between the four.
“Tell me, Screpis, did you understand a lot during your first days in this location?” I snapped tiredly, unable to resist. Hell, I wasn’t here to amuse them. “I suppose that you had issues distinguishing your ass from your head. But now, of course, you are clever and experienced. Unlike lil’ ol’ me.”
“Would you look at that? The pup knows how to bite,” Screpis’s thin lips curved into a cold grin.
“He’s right,” Caraster intervened. “Human, this Dion is young. Not by level, but by age. Therefore, the armor is crappy. And there’s nothing but wind in his head. The only thing he has of value is... Screpis, you finish it.” Caraster sprung to his feet and approached me, partially blocking the fire and the carcass, enveloped in a haze of dissolution. I tensed up, but remained seated as I didn’t feel a direct threat.
“Where were you, human?” the Okhtan inquired, looking at me with his creepy eyes. “The Lowlings assured us that the Dions had killed you. I see that this was a lie. I’m not surprised. You... Smell strongly.”
“Smell” was an understatement. In fact, it reeked from me like from a trash can. The self-made armor, placed over dirty and bloody rags that once were my clothes, was torn and burned with acid splashes; scars and scabs covered my body on places where claws and acid had reached me. My hands and face suffered the most damage. I could participate in a contest for the title of the best beggar in the location. Of course, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, but still… “What are you wearing? Where did you get that?” The sword that had been hanging on the Okhtan’s belt seemed to have jumped out of its shabby sheath and into his hand. The movement was faster than a bullet; the blade’s tip unceremoniously scratched my DIY chest-plate, which was now worn out from all the fighting. The blade then touched both the armband and the greave and darted back into the sheath. I wanted to answer, but couldn’t. My body was literally numb from fatigue. Thoughts sluggishly stirred in my head, which felt as if it weighed a ton. My glance involuntarily shifted to the carcass of an animal by the fire. It was one of the very Sleepy Porks that my group had been hunting during the day, which resembled a crossbreed between a tailed squirrel and a mole the size of a fat sheep. These creatures had adapted to a life in the snow and spent most of their life in hibernation so that they could escape the cold. However, it was enough to frighten them to have them leave their holes. A well-aimed shot from a sling would be enough to hit the animal before it runs far, far away from the hunters. This carcass was left for the night shift; the Kobi had dragged away the rest of the prey to the Fortress to feed the other dwellers.
“That’s the smell of a den,” Molek approached me and sniffed, wrinkling his flat nose. “He smells of a den! How…?”
It seemed that everyone had come to the same conclusion simultaneously. The Okhtans silently glanced at me. Their slit pupils trembled strangely. Were they… surprised?
“Not bad for a rookie,” Caraster broke the silence that was hanging in the air. “You look miserable, but the newly gained four levels and grown-up pets speak for themselves. Humans are an amusing race. It won’t be dull with you around. You are always up to something.” He prodded my greave with his boot. “Where’s your Uniq? Did you stash your gear or lose it? And what did you try to do with the Dion? Talk him to death? Remember, they are our enemies. You’ve no option, if you don’t strike, they will.”
Something in his words seemed wrong to me, almost contradictory to what I had just seen. But that thought flashed and disappeared, dissolving in the fatigue.
“Leave him, he’s out of it,” Molek intervened impassively, interrupting the leader’s barrage of questions. “Those deceitful shorties left him to die, and went to join the evening entertainment.”
My glance wandered through the hall and I spotted a pattern on the wall, drawn with coal. Chula had drawn it in her spare time, I was sure. It was a picture of a dancing Fairy. The fine lines and strokes were skillfully painted with coal on an uneven stone surface... Chula had talent. Shadows cast by the flame that was dancing in the hearth made the drawing almost seem alive, a little more and the Fairy would flap her painted wings and take off... All of a sudden, I felt absolutely indifferent about anything the Okhtans might say. I made a mistake deciding to sit down. Exhaustion and fatigue finally caught up with me and broke whatever willpower I had left; my eyelids grew heavy, like lead plates, the light began to fade, and my consciousness drifted into darkness…
Chapter 30
Fury’s roar came as if from a bottomless well. There was a slap. My head rang. I was abruptly thrown back into reality. Before I could rebel, Caraster pressed a flask to my lips and made me take a sip. The refreshing taste partially drove the drowsiness away; a warm, invigorating wave spread through my guts. I automatically reached for the flask, but Caraster immediately retreated, returning the flask to his belt. He clearly fulfilled his Good Samaritan deed for the day. There was no point in asking for a second, gratuitous sip. I would just lose what little respect, or rather, tolerance that they graced me with when they had found out about the den. Neutrality was better than enmity, after all. Neutrality... This word sparked something in the back of my mind, but the thought didn’t go further.
The bleeding stopped.
The heat from the fire and the sip of the potion did their job; the wound on my thigh finally stopped bleeding, though it continued to ache.
“You can feed your beast, we have already taken our cut of the carcass,” Caraster said, losing interest in me and returned to sitting on his stone.
Fury didn’t even bother waiting and assaulted the Pork’s carcass with the same fury with which she had fought Demons in the den, tearing at it. Her HP and energy bars crawled from the yellow to the green zone, but the exhaustion debuff wasn’t in a hurry to do so. Full recovery wouldn’t be possible without a full rest, for her or for me. In my mind I knew that I should follow her example, but for some reason I didn’t feel hunger. It was as if something really left only a ringing void in me. My endurance had seemingly improved; maybe my suffering wasn’t in vain after all... Oh, if I could only trade this suffering for pleasure.
Keymaster Page 20
