Son of Cayn

by Jason McDonald

  “Your turn,” Chert said calmly. “Shall I count, or just rip them out?”

  The horse and the pony watched curiously as the dwarf cut out the arrowheads while simultaneously praying for healing. Even with the magic, it took more than an hour to complete the procedure, and when the dwarf finished, he and his patient both fell into an exhausted sleep.

  * * *

  By evening, the caravan passed the lone mountain, and Marko called for a halt. Dark clouds obscured the setting sun, throwing a pall over the landscape.

  Ognian sat in the wagon with his head in his hands. From time to time, he would slowly peer out into the camp between his fingers, shudder, and cover his eyes again. Jasper guessed the world was still spinning a little too fast for the Northman.

  Jasper opened the chuck box at the rear of the wagon and dug out the equipment he needed. While Lucky built a compact cook fire, set up the tripod, and hung the large cast iron pot, Jasper chopped beef, onions, potatoes, and carrots into bite-sized pieces.

  The cook could feel the eyes of both the knight and his pale bodyguard boring into him while he worked. He wiped his brow on his shirtsleeve, feigning having onion juice in his eyes to glance at his captors. The knight wore open suspicion as his eyes traveled between Grendel, Jasper, and Dragahn. The Seldaehne stood in a position to watch both Grendel and the cook, weapon in hand.

  Jasper turned back to the pot, added chunks of flour-dredged beef to the caramelizing onions, and sent Lucky for water. Letting the beef brown, he opened his spice box and sprinkled pinches of this and that over the vegetables. When the youth returned, the cook already had the box closed and was adding the now-seasoned potatoes and carrots to the pot. Jasper nodded to the boy, and water sizzled in the pot as the cook stirred the contents rapidly. The hearty scent of beef stew filled the camp.

  * * *

  “Mladen’s returned!” Kourash growled.

  Hoofbeats echoed from the road to the west, and Marko ran to that side of camp. Mladen jumped from his saddle to greet him. Jasper couldn’t tell what was said, but by the time they returned to camp, Marko seemed to be in an extremely good mood. He watched the knight while he cooked the stew, but he had a feeling that if it was good for the knight, it was bad for the rest of them.

  All eyes went to Aleksandra when she stepped out of her tent. Marko walked up to her and offered her his arm. The two walked together toward the center of camp, discussing whatever news the Northman had brought.

  “What’s for supper tonight, cook?” Marko asked.

  Jasper looked up from stirring the pot and replied, “Beef stew.”

  “It smells delicious. What’s in it?”

  “A little of this and a little of that,” Jasper said casually as he brought up his spoon to taste the broth, not looking at the knight. Marko quickly stepped in front of Jasper and said, “I asked you a question; I expect an answer.”

  Looking directly at the knight, Jasper said curtly, “I gave you an answer.”

  Before it could escalate further, Dragahn stepped behind the cook and whispered, “Just tell him what’s in the stew.”

  Jasper whispered back, but not soft enough to go unnoticed by the knight, “He watched me cook it; he should know what’s in it. Besides, I never give away my secrets.”

  “You’ve got a smart mouth on you, Cook,” Marko said. “Be glad I like your food.”

  Before Jasper could reply, Dragahn grabbed his arm tightly and shook his head.

  “You’d better listen to the driver if you know what’s good for you,” Marko said, daring the cook to say something else. Jasper yanked his arm out of Dragahn’s grasp, dipped his spoon into the stew, and said, “Try a taste first before you get mad at me for wanting to keep the recipe to myself.”

  All the teamsters watched the exchange. Over the past few days, Marko had noticed the men respected and liked Jasper; however, Marko felt the fat man had somehow trapped him. Sure, he could push the cook further, but looking around, he concluded he had already lost this round. He took the spoon from Jasper, sipped it, and a smile spread across his face.

  “I’m glad you like it. Lucky, grab the knight here a bowl and fill it for him.”

  The young man instantly produced a bowl, picked up the ladle, dipped it full, and handed it to Marko. He grabbed another bowl, filled it, and handed it to Aleksandra. The two left with their bowls in hand, the small confrontation forgotten for the time being.

  Everyone else formed a line with bowls in hand while Lucky dipped the stew. It was a quiet crowd, and when Mladen helped Ognian join the line, everyone stepped aside so they could go right to the front.

  Off to the side, Grendel’s eyes narrowed when he saw Jasper walking toward him, carrying a bowl of stew.

  “Here ya go. Fresh from the pot,” Jasper said. Grendel took it without saying anything, but the cook felt the hostility the half-orc had building inside.

  “There was nothing I could do, Grendel,” he whispered.

  “I have seen what you can do, so do not expect me to believe you were helpless. We could have ended this.”

  Jasper looked the bodyguard in the eyes and said quietly, “Taking out Marko would not have ended this. There’s more going on here than just him and the Seldaehne.”

  “How many of these people have to die or get hurt before you are willing to step in and do something?” Grendel whispered harshly. The cook opened his mouth and, catching himself, shut it. He thought for a moment and said, “We cannot give up now. I feel we are very close.”

  “Close? At this rate, none of us will make it out of these woods alive,” Grendel said a little too loudly and some of the teamsters looked their way.

  Jasper glanced around and whispered, “We’ll finish this later.”

  * * *

  Xandor woke as twilight fell, and found Chert snoring loudly next to him. Although the forest was dark, the bunker remained lit by the dim light radiating from the ogre’s head, like a gruesome jack o’ lantern. With a sharp poke to the ribs, the dwarf startled awake, expecting another attack.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s past dark.”

  Glancing about, the dwarf sought his bearings. He rolled his shoulders and stretched out the kinks in his muscles. Considering the day they’d had, he felt good. With a prayer of thanks, Chert opened his pouch and pulled out some jerky. He first offered some to the ranger, who declined, before taking a bite.

  Xandor looked around and noticed Xerxes staring back at him. “Have you been there the whole time?”

  The Andalusian bobbed his head up and down and pawed the ground, anxious to be on the move.

  “You’re right. We need to be moving. Chert, you ready?”

  The dwarf finished swallowing his bite and replied, “Whenever you are.”

  They both stood and collected their weapons and armor. Chert found his shield and reworked the strap so he could hold it correctly. Next, he found his helmet and placed it on his head. As they passed the ogre, Xandor said, “That’s disturbing.”

  “Yeah, he’ll be like that for at least a couple of days.”

  “Maybe we should take the head and use it?”

  Chert glanced obliquely at the ranger and replied, “No thanks.”

  * * * * *

  “Come Inside My Tent” (October 23)

  The temperature plummeted when the clouds cleared. Outside her tent, Aleksandra stood next to Grendel, staring up at the stars in the sky. Wrapped in a wool blanket, she leaned into her bodyguard and let the heat radiating from him seep through her.

  “Orcné, come inside my tent,” she said.

  He glanced down at her before quickly scanning the camp, then replied, “I should stay out here and keep a lookout.”

  She grabbed his hand and said with a laugh, “Don’t be scared. I’m not going to bite . . .” Much, she added silently.

  With some gentle urging, Aleksandra led Grendel inside her tent. He stooped down to get through the flap. Once inside, she watched as he stretched to his full
height and stared with wide eyes at the amount of space she had—a foldout cot, a chest of drawers, and a desk with a lit oil lamp lined three walls, but there was still enough room left in the center for a thick rug.

  Despite the cold outside, the air inside the tent was comfortably warm. Aleksandra let the tent flap fall into place and released the blanket. The wool slithered down her body to pool on the floor.

  Grendel turned, and his jaw dropped.

  Aleksandra stood naked, her eyes filled with lust for the large man. She approached him and said in a husky whisper, “I’ve never tasted a J’Belan.”

  His mouth closed with a snap. Gripping her shoulders, Grendel stopped her from getting any closer. “Milady, you can’t have me,” he growled.

  She reached down toward his waist while staring into his eyes, willing him to give in to her. He pushed her roughly away and said, “I am only a half-human, not some handsome prince. Go find someone else to play with.”

  “What does it matter that you’re part human or part orc? Your father was part ogre, and your mother was human. Have you ever wondered what it felt like for them? Have you never wanted to feel the soft skin of a human woman?”

  Her words created visions in his head. She licked her lips in anticipation as she watched him struggle against himself. Abruptly he tore his eyes away, found her desk, and stared at it.

  Aleksandra slid between him and the desk and recaptured his eyes. “You can say I bewitched you, if you’re worried what the others might say.”

  “I am not my father.”

  “Then be Vanin and take me.”

  “No.”

  She laughed and asked, “Are you worried you might hurt me?”

  Pain filled his eyes, and he bowed his head. She knew she had guessed right and changed tactics. “Look at me.”

  Before he could turn away, she stepped forward and placed her hands on each side of his head. “Look at me,” she repeated, softer this time. “You are not going to hurt me.”

  He stared down at her and asked, “How do you know?”

  For an answer, she took a couple of steps back and rotated her leg; deep white scars scored her upper thigh. “When I was twelve years old, a demon raped me, Grendel. Compared to it, you are a handsome prince.”

  Horror flooded his expression only to be swept away by a look she had never seen before. “Your family didn’t protect you?”

  “Protect me?” she asked incredulously. “They were the ones who gave me to it. I guess you could call it a rite of passage. Every girl born into the Madasgorski family is given over when they come of age.”

  “Why?” he stammered.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Aleksandra answered; her voice quivered, and she inhaled sharply as she turned away from her bodyguard.

  She heard him move and was surprised when he draped the blanket around her.

  Aleksandra turned swiftly before he could see her face and buried her head in Grendel’s chest. He felt her shaking and wrapped his arms around her.

  It could have been minutes or it could have been hours. Grendel held her, one hand around her back, the other softly stroking her hair. His tenderness was alien to Aleksandra, and she had no idea how he expected her to react. Her mind raced, and she thought of all she had lost in the course of the last few months. She let the hot tears of rage flow, certain this man was unlikely to use them against her. Eventually, she began to breathe softly.

  Grendel gently picked her up and placed her on the cot. He stepped over to the desk and dimmed the lamp to the barest flicker of light before pushing out of the tent into the cold night air.

  In the wake of his passage, a smile of satisfaction curled Aleksandra’s lips.

  * * * * *

  The Anak’im (October 24)

  “The horses can’t keep this pace,” Dragahn said.

  “They can, and they will,” Marko said, pointing his finger at Dragahn’s chest.

  “Are you trying to run them into the ground?”

  Marko made like he was going to turn away, but instead he punched Dragahn hard in the face with a right hook. The caravan chief fell, sprawling in the dirt. Instantly, everyone was wide awake. Kourash stepped out of the shadows, his mere presence quelling any resistance from the teamsters.

  “Don’t ever question me again!”

  Using the back of his hand, Dragahn wiped the blood from his mouth and said, “Yes, sir.”

  Pyotr rushed over and knelt beside the caravan chief; Dragahn brushed him aside and asked for a hand up.

  “You can punch me all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact you’re killing these horses.”

  A woman’s voice echoed across the camp. “He’s right, brother.” Stepping from the shadows, dressed in her heavy riding clothes, Aleksandra approached Dragahn, whose lip was already starting to swell. She looked at Pyotr and then back at the caravan chief. “Can we get one more good day out of the horses?”

  The two looked at each other. Reluctantly, Dragahn nodded affirmatively and said, “Perhaps, Milady. I think so.”

  Muttering, Pyotr stomped off toward the wagons.

  “Good, then let’s get everyone up and get the wagons ready to go.”

  * * *

  When the wagons stopped for the midday break, Jasper and Lucky jumped down from their seats and immediately set a small fire to prepare the trail rations. Nearby, Jasper overheard Pyotr and Dragahn discussing the condition of the horses. They talked a lot about horseshoes and whether some of the horses were favoring one leg over another. The cook couldn’t keep up with what was said, but he knew it didn’t sound good.

  Looking around, Jasper felt confident that whatever was going to happen would do so in the next day or two. Marko and Aleksandra were in good spirits and appeared unconcerned about the condition of the horses, which was at odds with the former Sachin.

  A loud crashing echoed through the woods, and everyone looked when Marko emerged, cursing in Rhodinan. He kicked and stomped and occasionally struck trees with his sword. The noise he created was loud enough to spook the Percherons, and the drivers had to whisper calm words to soothe them.

  Aleksandra walked to her brother. The two talked briefly, and her good mood darkened. Marko motioned curtly for Mladen, and the teamsters turned and watched the Northman cautiously approach the siblings. When the Northman went white beneath his red hair and ran for his horse, Jasper had an inkling of what, or better yet who, they discussed and prayed that Xandor and Chert were safe.

  * * *

  After a few miles, the knight picked up speed and moved faster, pushing his Frisian, but Dragahn made no effort to keep up, letting a gap form between him and the knight. He held his Percherons back, and eventually, the gap grew larger and larger without the knight knowing.

  “You’re going to get yourself killed,” Jasper whispered in Dragahn’s ear.

  “That koochi sin is going to kill these horses if he keeps this up, and I’ve got way too much invested in them to just let them die like this.”

  Eventually, Marko turned and saw the gap. Furious, he walked his horse back toward Dragahn. Matching the chuck wagon’s pace, he yelled harshly, “You’d better push those horses, driver, or I’ll have one of my men kill someone right now!”

  Keeping his head forward, Dragahn ignored the knight and kept the horses moving at a steady pace.

  “Driver, this is your last warning. Do not test me on this. You will lose,” the knight said. When Dragahn still did not respond, Marko gestured to Ognian. The Northman fired directly at Lucky with his longbow. The teenager stared wide-eyed as the arrow sped toward his chest. He didn’t have time to react, throw his hands up, or try anything to block it.

  Just before the arrow hit, the air in front of Lucky coalesced and the shaft veered downward, striking the bed of the wagon.

  Marko immediately screamed for a halt, and, with one fluid motion, put the edge of his blade to Dragahn’s neck.

  “What was that?” he yelled. When no one responded, he yell
ed again, this time louder, “What was that?”

  Pyotr cast a quick glance toward Jasper, but the cook just sat in his seat, his face unreadable. Grendel slouched in his seat, his chin tucked in a deep sleep, but it was Aleksandra who intrigued Pyotr the most. She didn’t get emotional. Instead, she looked around as if everything was going as planned.

  “Comrades, we have a spell caster amongst us,” Marko said angrily. “One of you is not what they seem.” Sheathing his sword, he directed his Frisian down the line toward Lucky’s side of the wagon. “Youth! How did you do that?”

  “Do what?” Lucky stammered.

  Kourash guided his horse to Jasper and said with a growl, “Here’s your spell caster.”

  Looking where the Seldaehne pointed, Marko stared the cook in the eyes and asked, “Did you save this boy?”

  Maintaining eye contact, Jasper said, “I’m just a cook.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Marko said as he stood in his stirrups, pulled out his sword, and made to strike down the youth. With a tightening of his grip on the hilt, the knight swung his sword, but before it struck home, a voice cried out, “It’s me!”

  Everyone looked around, and cries of disbelief went up amongst the teamsters. Pyotr sat there shaking, but he looked at the knight and repeated, “I’m the mage you’re looking for.”

  Marko stopped his blade and gestured toward Ognian. The Northman rode up along the other side of the wagon and pointed a nocked arrow at Pyotr’s chest.

  “You may be a horse doctor, but you are no mage,” Marko said confidently. “But I bet you know who is.”

  “I swear it’s me. There’s no one else,” Pyotr said, his voice shaking with fear. Beside him sat a small tin of hooch.

  “Fine; it’s you. Then do something else.”

  “I can’t. I didn’t even know I could do that until just now,” Pyotr said quickly. Marko eyed him suspiciously. He turned to look at his sister, who also cast a suspicious look toward the doctor. “You know that by claiming to be a mage, you have condemned yourself to death.”