“Then you need to drink more,” Innith said. Innith moved to the closest table, and grabbed two freshly filled tankards of water, handing one both Orrin and Valor. “Drink up. Go ahead.”
Suddenly, Abassan stopped checking Valor’s stature, looking at him straight in the eyes with the same ferocity that allowed him to conquer the Scarlett Ring again and again.
As if by a random spasm of the body, Abassan threw a lazy swipe at Valor’s right side. Without thinking, Valor stepped back, his body as quiet as a still lake. The tips of Abassan’s fingers barely grazed his armored stomach.
Abassan looked down. As did Innith and Orrin, but only for a second, to see Valor’s shadow lag behind his movement.
“You’ve been trained in the silence,” Abassan said in a low, grumbling tone, much sterner than his usual earthy, warm voice. Abassan bowed to Orrin and Valor, as did Innith, both men moving away. “I am sorry. We are forbidden from teaching those who would use those skills.”
Valor instinctively reached out a hand, his voice uncontrollably saying, “No.”
“No?” Innith said. “Is there some magic through which you mean to compel us? Not without your undeveloped aura, I’d say.”
Valor felt a loss for words, but needed to find something within himself, something to make them teach him. It had not been the first time that Lobosa had been his own downfall, but he would not be a victim of it this time.
“Listen,” he said, “it’s just to sharpen our wits. We merely use the bodywork, the stuff that makes us stronger in an open battle. We aren’t killers. We’re bodyguards. Besides, who are we going to assassinate out here?” Valor looked to his brother for assistance, forgetting for a moment that Orrin was mute.
Abassan and Innith looked at each other. “We will consider it,” Abassan said. “Your words do not strike us as false. Neither of you have the scent of killers about you. But Lobosa will have to double our fees.”
Valor sighed relief, but felt choked by the potential that they would still say no.
Valor did have a scent, however, and he was surprised neither elf noticed it. It was the smell of a scentless man, a skill of the silence.
“Good,” Valor said after a long silence. “I’m glad. Orrin would be the first to tell you… unless I’m concentrating, I’m the clumsiest person you’ve ever met.”
Abassan folded his hands in front of himself. “Definitely not the mark of an assassin.”
Valor’s mouth opened without anything to leave it. “Ah,” he said. “True. But fortunately for my potential as a killer, I am incapable of concentrating on anything for more than a few seconds.”
Innith chuckled. “Settle. We believe you. Few use the silence for real killing these days. Unless the shroud has come back, and we are all blissfully unaware.”
Valor nodded. “If the shroud is back, I too would prefer to be blissfully unaware.”
Abassan pressed Valor towards the crowd that had been gathering by the high seats set up on the pavilion, just below Lobosa’s tower. Valor had not paid mind to the crowd’s insane cheering up until now, and he saw Battle Master Gavra walk towards center ring, its sand painted white with circles and lines, denoting pointless starting positions all over the field.
“A fight?” Abassan asked. “Or a massacre?”
“I always hope for a fight,” Innith said. “Unless its a Terrathian in the ring.” The shorter elf’s voice went low as he spit into a nearby pot, as if he were a Terrathian himself.
“Being slaves must be terrible,” Valor said to no one in particular, except himself, reveling sadly in the irony that was his comment. “It is good you both escaped.”
Abassan clapped Innith on the back. “It is.”
Valor looked at Orrin for a moment, worried that he’d said the wrong thing. Both men watched Innith’s expression. It did not change back to his usual carefree smile. Valor knew little about both men, except that they had been indentured servants in Terrathia for a powerful human lord, years ago, in their youth.
He wondered why Innith would dwell on the past, regardless of how painful. He wondered, too, why his brother did it so often. He had never felt the need to do anything but look forward to the future.
Innith tapped Valor on the chest. “Something big’s coming out.”
Valor nodded, watching the crowd cheer as battle master Gavra’s magically enhanced voice rang out across the stadium, eclipsing all other chatter.
“You’ve all been waiting so patiently, and for that, I thank you. Now - it’s time to bring out a beast so powerful, so magnificent…”
Valor turned his head towards where Lobosa sat. He saw Drake Redstone descending the lift of the tower, his cheeks puffing in and out, obviously angry about something, his red face making him look like a crab boiling in the sun.
“Where are you?” Valor asked himself aloud. Orrin turned to him, confused. Valor saw his hands about to sign.
BOOM…
The ground shook. A powerful cracking sound thundered upwards.
Valor looked all around. He looked up to the top of Lobosa’s tower. The Warden was standing at the edge. He motioned to Valor silently, a signal for him to watch out.
“Orrin, let’s go. To the front.”
Orrin looked around, then stepped in front of his brother, clearly reveling in the chance to push some nobles by their shoulders, sliding them while still seated in their chairs aside. A few shouted hey or Excuse me!” Orrin ignored them, and Valor followed in his brother’s wide wake.
Another crack, like the splintering of an ancient Yah’gah tree, ripping right from its base, creaking a quick death.
Valor’s attention turned downwards. The sun was high, pelting the crowd with rays, begging them to die the slow death of the water starved.
“Where are you?” Valor asked himself again.
Suddenly, the massive wooden gate beneath Lobosa’s tower shook violently, as if something had battered it from beneath. The crowd gasped. Battle master Gavra seemed to be trying to calm them.
“It seems our friend is restless…”
The door burst open, splinters the size of daggers spinning out of control, planks of wood falling to the ground.
Revealing itself slowly, a Bulthin leapt towards the front, immediately sizing up Gavra, jumping towards its target. Its height cleared that of two men stacked on top of one another. Black fur shook rigidly, a single strand thick enough to be used as a garrote.
Even from his height, he could see it.
Valor looked up at Lobosa again. Harma be damned, you bastard… he couldn’t believe that after all this time, Lobosa had managed to capture the wolf monsters of legend.
From behind the Bulthin, out strode another one, smaller, more lithe. The female strode around him, her fur powdery and snow-grey.
As if sensing Valor’s eyes, the female turned its head at an awkward angle, locking eyes with him. “That’s… not…” Valor said under his breath.
The female jumped, setting off a chain reaction. The crowd immediately dispersed, breaking glasses, shattering minds, knocking over chairs.
The giant wolf managed to get its front paws over the front parapets, its large snout, itself the size of a small boar, shooting out strong vapors of foul smelling air. Valor and Orrin stepped back, pushing away people from the crowd. Valor pushed down his desire to kick a few of the nobles forward and watch them be eaten. Eventually, the threat would come for him. Better to deal with it now.
He looked at Orrin as the beast managed to claw its way up towards them. He signed [ Can you get the big one? ]
Orrin nodded, and before Valor knew it, had leapt over the side of the wall. He moved silently, launching himself over the wall, disappearing without a sound, no scraping of feet against the ground, not even the flutter of clothing. He knew his brother had taken his training in the silence seriously. Finally, he thought.
Valor drew both swords as the female Bulthin had managed to get its body halfway over the ledge.
&
nbsp; He kept its gaze, refusing to let it go. It fueled him as he began his meditative breathing.
“Thp, thp, thp, thp, thp, thp, thp, thp.”
Chapter 9
Orrin hit the ground with a soft, sandy splash.
There stood the Bulthin; a massive wolf, fangs glistening, claws muddy.
Around his neck was a collar, metal nooks broken in three places. Orrin’s eyes told him that the chains must have been too weak to hold the creature, and snapped.
Orrin quietly moved behind and to the left of the Bulthin. He had faced large beasts before, but only when sedated, which the Bulthin clearly was not.
The beast circled back to the gate, slamming its head against the open door, breaking it free. Pieces of broken stone and wood tumbled towards Gavra as he fell back against the eastern wall, headdress shattering into pieces against the limestone.
The Bulthin took notice of the noise caused by the headdress, its massive frame swaying towards the frightened battle master. Orrin could see scars across its face, and was sure that more were hidden by its dark fur. Crusted blood covered its lips. It had begun to grow an infection on its left side, eating away flesh and hair, green and pus filled.
The intense stench of dry saliva hit Orrin hard in his gut. The beast was hungry.
The wolf moved with intent, its body language no different from that of a normal wolf, but many times faster, stronger, and smarter. It stalked Gavra, skulking towards him until its shadow engulfed the frightened man, who was still screaming something about death and his mother. It stopped then; lowering slowly onto its back legs, ready to snatch its injured meal from the ground.
Orrin could see the Bulthin’s legs shaking. All signs pointed to weakness from hunger. He could let the Bulthin eat Gavra, then finish the creature from behind.
He looked at Gavra. The feral battle master whimpered softly, his breath losing form.
Orrin felt his sympathy begin to take hold, forcing his hand literally, as he threw his sword towards the battle master. It tumbled across the ground at an angle by the wolf’s nose, catching its attention. The Bulthin’s eyes poured out its tortured red anger towards Orrin as it put one paw in front of the other, stalking a new death bound course.
Regret ate him before the wolf could try.
Valor would have waited. Orrin thought. For once, I should have copied him.
The Bulthin lowered down, moving low, a stance Orrin could not mimic. He stood, folding his arms in front of the other, his gaze locked onto the Bulthin’s. He waited and waited for the inevitable attack.
Suddenly, the monster wolf pounced, landing in front of Orrin, a dust cloud puffing up into his face. Half blind, Orrin could still smell the foul breath of its open jaws.
Orrin shot out both of his hands into the upper and lower jaws of the beast as it pressed him down into the dirt and sand. His hands squished into the deep lips, until they hit something that felt like a molding of gums and cartilage. He squeezed his fingers harder into the beast’s mouth as the stalemate drew out. Orrin’s hands began to feel warm from the saliva pouring down his arms. The beast’s gums were weak, like soft pudding left under the sun. The wolf beast snarled, puffing shot after shot of spit at his face. Orrin thought to spin away, contemplating his next move, body drenched in saliva.
The Bulthin began to buck its head upwards, attempting to throw Orrin into the air.
He allowed it to do so, letting go of the bottom lip.
Suspended in flight, but with one hand still firm on the beast’s upper lip, Orrin raised his left leg and turned his waist, his body returning to vertical. In one smooth, twisting motion, Orrin’s heel smashed into the Bulthin’s right eye. The strike made no sound, but the beast backed up, furiously shaking its head. Angered even more, he swiped with his left paw, lunging forwards again.
Orrin moved to the side of the swollen eye. He leapt upon the beast’s furry back, grabbing it with full hands. He snaked his arm around its massive throat with both arms, clasping his hands together, forming a chokehold.
Squeeze, he thought. Orrin put his mind in his intent; the beast’s throat. His back muscles engaged, and he dug in hard with his feet, sinking them into the beasts shoulder joints, his body acting as one, forming a human vice. The only question now was whether or not the beast could break it.
The Bulthin shook violently, and the crowd cheered. Orrin closed his eyes to prevent the dizziness, but it came anyways. The wolf broke into a run, sand exploding with every footstep. When Orrin opened his eyes, all he could see were blurs of streaking color.
The beast then did what Orrin feared it would do. It rolled over onto its back, pressing all its weight upon its neck. Orrin took a deep breath as the scalding sand took hold of him, sticking to his spit covered body.
His face felt as if it was being pressed to a grindstone. Orrin squeezed tighter, digging his heels into the great creature’s joints.
Suddenly, Orrin heard the Bulthin squeal, and he felt a pop in its right shoulder. He dug in again, pushing hard, striking as hard as he could with both legs halfway pinned.
The Bulthin rolled over, and Orrin gasped. The sand filled his eyes and he shut them tight.
The wolf took off yet again, but soon slowed. The beast was tiring. Little by little, the shaking became less violent, its strong legs bereft of speed and energy.
The Bulthin fell to the ground.
Orrin unhooked his arms and pushed off, rolling several times in the event the beast was smart enough to feign injury. He stayed crouched, waiting and watching, but no retaliation came. Orrin kept his hands up, moving around to see its face. He looked into the Bulthin’s tired eyes.
He moved quickly to where his sword lay and picked it up.
Orrin placed both hands over his chest, and bowed. He spoke a silent prayer from the Grand Script.
In death, we walk, we run, and thus, we are still.
He walked towards the back of the creature’s head. In a swift move, he grabbed a handful of fur, and slid the sword right under the jaw, plunging it deep.
Unsure of what to do, he looked around at the frightened faces in the crowd, then turned towards Gavra, shaking from pain and fear. The burning white bone sticking from his leg was a clear sign of fracture.
Orrin brought his own hand high to signal the end of the battle.
There was some cheering, but not as much as he thought there would be, and certainly less than what Lobosa would have wanted.
Not that he cared what Lobosa wanted.
Cheers followed a mild forced clapping, nothing like the orgasm of noise from before. It lingered awkwardly as the sea of onlookers had already started moving towards the exits, eager to live, and not to die from whatever uncontrollable mystery Lobosa had locked away. Only a few collected their money. Most left the stands with confused, foul faces, disappoint covered by the countless floating flags and banners.
Orrin looked up to Lobosa’s pavilion. He could see nothing except the occasional head bobbing up and down, and heard nothing except for shouting and faint screams.
The young warrior looked over to Gavra, who was still huffing out of his dangling feral snout. Orrin walked over to him and extended a hand.
Gavra slapped it away. “Don’t touch me, slave.”
Orrin recoiled two steps. He expected nothing less, but always left room for hope.
“I suggest you try not to leave here.” Gavra said. “I’ve got my eye on you. The guards will come soon enough to take you back to your cell.”
Orrin turned away, looking at the dead Bulthin.
He felt sadness, and thought of what Valor had been saying in their cell the night before, about how some mystery was afoot.
“Hey!” Gavra called to him. “Don’t walk off too far. You won’t get much of anywhere.”
I know, Orrin thought. The sadness lingered in his heart, and he questioned why, why exactly he would feel sad for something he always expected.
Chapter 10
The female Bulthi
n had cleared the wall.
Valor looked to his left, and to his right. The crowd had jostled backwards, some attempting to watch, others trying to bust through the crowds, yelling words like idiots and fools. His regard for the well being of Lobosa’s patrons was almost nonexistent; he just wanted them out of the way.
Valor banged the flat side of his swords together. “Come on!” he yelled. “I’m right here!”
The female Bulthin locked eyes with Valor, its head snapping towards him, fixating its attention on the voice that taunted him.
Suddenly, Abassan and Innith appeared at both his left and ride side.
“We’re here to help,” Abassan said.
Valor didn’t dare speak while gazing into the eyes of the Bulthin. Opening his mouth would signal a readiness to strike, a readiness he did not yet have.
“Have you done this before?” Innith asked. Valor nodded again, his gaze unwavering.
The Bulthin snarled, glowing green eyes leering at him. The female lowered into her stance. Valor’s eyes began to water, since he dared not blink. He could almost feel the creature’s intelligence. Its paws checked the stiffness of the ground beneath its feet. Its gait changed rapidly, deciding how far it could leap without falling over the other side.
Valor focused on his breath, knowing the creature would come for him.
The female continued to lower her stance, farther and farther, until her front legs were completely stretched out.
Its green eyes flashed towards him, fur behind them. The Bulthin leapt with mouth stretched open, and Valor sprint-jumped to the side, holding both blades to his left as the Bulthin swiped at him as he flew by. One blade caught the beast in between the paw, cutting deep. He didn’t see it, but felt the familiar feeling of the edge of a blade catching skin as it split against his steel blade. The sight of white blood dripping down his blade reaffirmed it.
The Bulthin immediately turned when it landed, knocking over hypnotized bystanders, its tail slapping them over the wall. It snapped and barked at one, its sharp teeth rending the man’s leg.
Memorias: Deep in the Arnaks Page 10
