by Jeff Gunzel
Assirra stepped forward, hovering over Thatra as she gazed down on her kneeling follower. “Although I fear your faith in me is misguided, and possibly foolish, it inspires me nonetheless.” She placed her hand on Thatra’s head. “Go with my blessing, and help guide our new friends on this journey. On your word, I shall expect your return once Viola is safe. But do not return until that oath is fulfilled.”
Having no real understanding of social rank or what any of it meant, Viola watched with curiosity. Still, she was beginning to see a pattern forming. She eyed the table and all the remaining parchments strewn about. They were all just maps of varying regions, but one in particular caught her eye. With all eyes on Thatra and Assirra, she stealthily slid it off the table, allowing it to roll up in her hand. After a quick glance around, she slipped it up her sleeve.
“Well then,” said Assirra, her voice strong again now that the emotional moment had played itself out. “I suggest you all go back to your quarters and get ready. Rest well, my friends, and I shall see you off in the morning.”
After an hour or so of packing bags, all except Owen had retired. Instead of resting, the hunter decided it would be worth the slight loss of sleep to familiarize himself with his freshly repaired and newly upgraded black armor. Orfi rarely just “fixed” anything. His goal was always to improve upon the last version, and Owen was determined to figure out all the hidden surprises that had undoubtedly been added. But after finding any number of secret blades and hidden compartments, he too decided it might be best to lie down for the remainder of the night.
In the morning, they all ate breakfast outside with the other tarrins. The mood was much friendlier now that the troublesome humans would be leaving.
Xavier left the table ahead of the others in order to saddle the horses. Liam, Thatra, and Viola were each given a horse of their own, even though none of the three were even close to the quality of Xavier’s mighty mount.
Assirra approached Viola, who was sitting up in her saddle, and tucked a bulging bag inside the leather sack already attached to her horse. Viola looked uncomfortable, having trouble keeping her mount from sidestepping as it snorted defiantly. “You will get used to riding soon enough,” Assirra assured her. “What seems difficult now will soon become second nature, I promise.”
“What did you put in my bag?” Viola asked, reaching for it before quickly returning her hand to the reins, not liking the feel of her weight shifting like that. This really was going to take some getting used to.
“At some point, you must start learning the way of things,” Assirra replied. “Being a stranger in your own world leaves you at a constant disadvantage. The more you learn, the stronger you will become.”
Not exactly sure what Assirra was referring to, Viola simply smiled in response.
“Go now, and stay safe,” the High Cleric said.
After a series of warm goodbyes, they all set out towards the farthest parts of the forest, Thatra taking point. It was time to leave the village of Eldham and begin their journey.
*
The being groaned, its head rolling to one side as its eyelids twitched. Lungs burning, body aching, it was starting to regain consciousness.
“Well, it’s about time,” came a voice from nearby, although it sounded hollow and muffled.
“He’s been in that suspended state for days now,” came another voice. “I wasn’t sure he would survive.” Again the voice was muffled, as if the person were speaking with his head submerged in water.
Orm’rak opened his eyes halfway, his sleepy gaze wandering across a row of pasty white faces, their pink eyes glaring back at him. Startled, his eyes flew open as his hands fired out impulsively, slamming against a thick glass barrier. Now fully awake, his breath came in heavy gasps, his heart racing so hard that he could feel the beating in his ears. “What— Where am I?” he groaned in a gravelly voice, his throat dry and weak from not being used for days.
“You’re alive,” said one of the ghatins, stepping up closer. Through the curvature of the glass, his powdery white features appeared stretched and warped. “Not that you deserve to be after failing us once again!”
Orm’rak glanced around, only now realizing he was inside some sort of glass chamber with various tubes protruding from his stomach and neck.
“I should be dead,” he muttered, remembering his final thoughts before losing consciousness. He could still feel her pulling him down into the ground, the searing pain exploding through every inch of his body. Their cursed bodies could move through even the thinnest layers of ash, but not his. It felt like having a stone wall simply appear inside your body, crushing every organ simultaneously without any explanation as to how it got there. “How can I still be alive?”
“You sound disappointed,” said another ghatin. Since they were practically mirror images of one another, it was hard for him to tell who was speaking at any given time. “And perhaps you should be. We snatched you from the jaws of death only because you have yet to fulfill your end of the bargain. We still don’t have the girl, and our patience with you is nearly at its end. How many more times do you plan to fail us?”
Orm’rak sneered from behind the glass, his taunting smirk gaining him quite a few angry glares. “The specifics of our arrangement have changed significantly,” he growled. “I lost over half my forces in that fruitless raid. Now that the laberaths numbers have been permanently decreased, I no longer have the numbers required to maintain the lands your people were going to give me in exchange for the girl.”
He laughed, throwing his head back in a fiendish cackle. “My fate has been sealed, along with that of what’s left of my kind. Now that we are all but extinct, you no longer have anything I desire. The arrangement is off!” He began pulling the life-giving tubes off his body, each trickling with red liquid when it snapped free.
“How dare you defy us!” hissed another ghatin, its lipless face scrunching together to form a deep, warped scowl. “Your job was to bring us the girl, nothing more—a simple task you somehow failed to complete countless times! You will bring her to us whether you want to or not. We spared your pathetic life. We own you!”
“Please, do not mistake my intent,” said Orm’rak, his voice calm and serene as ever, yet his dark red eyes blazing with fury. “I still intend to find the girl, but not for the sake of any of you.” His black lips curled back in a snarl. “Revenge is my only incentive now!” He surged forward, a spray of shattered glass shards flying as he ripped through the tube. The enraged laberath drove his hand right into the face of the ghatin standing before him. Like wet mud, its powdery white face caved inward, but then stretched back into place.
Ghatins hissed, the entire chamber sounding like a pit of snakes as their arms stretched out to form solid white blades of flesh. The one Orm’rak had punched slashed out, his flesh blade sweeping wide of its mark. A second, third, and fourth caught nothing but air as Orm’rak’s body flashed from side to side. But even with his inhuman speed, the laberath was severely outnumbered. The ghatins converged as one, flesh blades slashing wildly, but to their eyes, Orm’rak seemed to teleport all around the quickly diminishing space.
Orm’rak leapt straight up, his body blurring into a spinning black funnel of cawing birds whirling up and away. A bladed arm nipped the bottom of the rising funnel, sending a few black birds skidding across the stone floor in a spray of black feathers. After a few bounces, the dead birds came to a halt, beaks and mouths wide open. Seconds later they melted where they lay, the carcasses transforming into small pools of dark blood.
The whirling funnel blurred up onto a rocky platform thirty feet in the air, then melted back into the laberath’s natural form. Orm’rak growled, clenching his wounded leg, blood seeping between his fingers. The wound was minor, but still threatened to slow him down. He was going to need all his speed to escape, given how thoroughly outnumbered he was. Safe for the moment, he was able to focus on his surroundings for the first time.
As he suspected
, this hollow chamber appeared to be inside a volcano. A riverbed of molten lava rolled through the base of the floor near the far wall, thick and orange with rising bubbles, dark crusts floating across the top. Ghatins stood spread out around the stone base, their angry attention focused on him. Orm’rak glanced up, seeing a small patch of light off in the distance. He could only suspect it was the way out, but with so many enemies between here and there, reaching it would be no easy feat.
“You dare to betray us!” came a hissing call from below. “Then share our fate and stay here for eternity!” In a flash, the ghatin’s bladed arm extended, shooting up towards the platform. Orm’rak sidestepped at the last second, watching the blade crash into the stone behind him and become embedded deep into the rock wall. Tiny cracks radiated from the wall. Orm’rak flashed from side to side once, twice, then ducked as more flesh blades fired towards him. He was already aware of their shape-shifting abilities, but had completely underestimated their range!
“If you think to threaten me into loyalty, you will be sourly disappointed!” Orm’rak roared down to them, flashing away from two more streaking flesh blades. “I bow to no one! Best you remember that.” He leapt off the ledge, spinning into the air just as three more blades thundered into the stone where he had just been standing. The whirling funnel weaved back and forth before settling down on the rock floor below.
Although tempting to try and spin towards the light, Orm’rak knew he needed to stay in his humanoid form. The funnel of birds moved too slowly, and he would need every bit of his speed to escape this deathtrap. Although his bleeding leg felt like it was on fire, he ignored the pain and took off in a blur, weaving right between the evenly spaced ghatins.
Up the slope he zipped as pasty white forms melted out from the walls, bladed arms slashing out as he streaked by. He was limping and it affected his speed, but no mortal eye could have ever detected the negligible decrease. Whooshing past the white faces with mouths opening wide in screams of protest, fire shot through his left shoulder as one of the countless flesh blades swinging blindly finally found its mark.
He stumbled and rolled across the ground. Sensing the closing danger, he rolled left then right, blades sinking into the stone floor with each twisting dodge. Springing back to his feet, ignoring the white-hot searing pain from his wounds, he dashed towards the light just fifty feet away, a stone’s throw for him...if he were not wounded. Twenty. He streaked left, the slashing blade just missing his ear. Ten... He dove forward with all his strength, pushing off his wounded leg, ignoring the agony shooting all the way up to his hip.
He rolled into the sunlight, white blades crashing into nothing right behind him. As if hitting an invisible force field, they shattered into speckles of white just before exposing themselves to the free air outside. Howls of pain came from behind him, shrieks echoing through the chasm below. Gingerly, Orm’rak got to his feet and dared to look back. Ignoring his painful wounds, he walked to the mouth of the cave and sneered, his nose only inches away from a sea of white faces.
“You will pay for your insolence,” hissed one of the ghatins, its pink eyes flaring with rage.
“I might have actually believed you,” Orm’rak taunted, daring to push his face even closer, “if you weren’t nothing more than wild dogs trapped in a cage.” He stayed there a long while, drinking in their anger, savoring his small victory before finally turning away. Bleeding from both his leg and his shoulder, the laberath walked steadily down the mountainside, refusing them even the satisfaction of seeing him limp.
Chapter 4
Trees and shrubbery blurred past his vision, all meshing together into streaks of green and brown. Coming to a halt, Orm’rak threw his back against the trunk of a thick oak. He grimaced, leaning hard into the tree as his chest heaved in and out. His head spun, nausea churning in his gut as his wounds continue to bleed. Moving at such speeds was ripping his battered body apart, though necessary if he was to get back to his home before he shut down completely. But he could only do it in brief bursts before needing to rest.
“Home,” he grunted to himself, resisting the urge to laugh at the ridiculous claim. “What does that word even mean to me now?” Forehead pressed against the rough bark, he slammed a fist into the tree, sending leaves fluttering down around him. Although he had managed to escape from the ghatins with his life, a new, bitter reality was beginning to sink in. He thumped the oak tree once more before stumbling on.
How had it all gone so wrong? Beaten by a pack of tree-hugging tarrins accompanied by that handful of worthless humans. The laberaths defeated by their own source of food? What next, were pigs and chickens going to rise up against the humans? But the outcome of this defeat went far beyond the shame and dishonor of being beaten by such a feeble race. Now, with their numbers dwindled down to near irrelevancy, the savage, nearly lawless laberaths couldn’t possibly hope to challenge for dominance anywhere in the surface world. Practically extinct, they might as well be erased from the history books altogether.
Boulders whizzed past, and a flash of blue caught his eye as he zipped past a lake. The terrain was becoming familiar now. Again, the streaking laberath was forced to stop to catch his breath and conserve his remaining energy. Orm’rak had lost a considerable amount of blood, and his body was beginning to feel cold. Anger and adrenaline alone were no longer enough to sustain him.
A squirrel chattered in a nearby tree, squawking in protest at the intruder who had gotten too close to its stash of food. With a surge, Orm’rak streaked towards the tree, using his momentum to run right up the trunk. Snatching the pest in one hand, he sank his teeth right into the back of its neck. Draining its blood almost instantly, he tossed the deflated carcass aside and began to cough. The blood of animals was sour, particularly that of lowly rodents which barely even counted as a source of food. But it would have to do.
Leaping down from the tree, Orm’rak managed to land on slightly sturdier legs. The rancid nectar had helped a little, and his wounds were scabbing over. With a growl, he blurred on with reckless speed. They would not get away with this. His legacy would not end with him draining woodland creatures for sustenance.
A short time later, the cave entrance came into sight. Dashing through the entrance, his blurred form streaked down the multiple corridors. When the buildings of Kraindoel came at him in a rush, he skidded to a halt to gaze out across the underground city. Polished stone walls glistened in the dull fluorescent purple light. Jagged veins of quartz embedded on the walls marked a jagged path downward from the rooftops, each one sparkling with tiny bursts of color when the light hit their impurities just right. Built thousands of years ago, the city was structured for a much larger population, and for centuries their numbers had been dropping steadily. Although still beautiful and elegant, the city was now practically a ghost town.
From this vantage point he could see two laberaths fighting over a meal in the streets, each pulling back and forth on the arms of a female human. She was obviously dead, and who knew how fresh her blood was at this stage, but that didn’t matter to the two desperate creatures. Aside from those two, there was little activity to be seen. Most laberaths had either died in the surface battle, or abandoned the city altogether. It might as well be a foreign wasteland.
Orm’rak tried to push the discouraging thoughts from his mind. It was too late for regrets. What was done was done. Although exceptionally gifted physically, the laberaths were little more than animals when it came to basic adaptation and survival. They were primitive, irrational, and reckless. He knew what was left of his race was doomed without some manner of organized leadership. Within a month, Orm’rak may very well be the only laberath in existence.
Determined not to join his brothers and sisters in their dire fate, he sped towards his empty home. As expected, the halls were empty. With no one to keep an eye on them, the servants had fled to the surface world. Even the runners were long gone, no doubt begging local blacksmiths to remove the metal collars from around the
ir necks. Word of the laberaths’ fall would spread, even to those who didn’t know they existed in the first place. There was no denying it was the end of an era...
Visibly limping, he headed down the main hall towards the large iron door bordered with golden serpents. Upon placing his hands against the door, the serpents writhed and squirmed, flowing around the door’s edge until the unit slid back, disappearing into the wall with a grinding sound. His wounds burning, he stalked into the chamber and pulled the first lever he saw. There came a hissing sound, steam rising about as the scent of sulfur filled the air.
A woman high on the rack drifted down to ground level. Displaying none of his usual patience, Orm’rak ripped the clear mask from her face. Liquid spewed from her mouth as the tube wrenched free. She groaned and coughed, eyes fluttering open. “You shall have the honor of being my first and only meal from this sorry batch of human meat!” Orm’rak growled. He ripped into her neck with a savage urgency, gorging so fast that she never even had the time to fully awaken.
Body twitching, her eyes rolled back as her face turned white. Draining her in under a minute, he tore the worthless husk from the rack and tossed it aside. It would no longer work for what he had in mind. Even he never really understood why a bloodless husk was useless where his other talents were concerned. But no matter, there were plenty of other warm bodies here for “that” particular purpose.
Already feeling his energy level rising, he stepped over to the next rack and pulled the lever, sending down a middle-aged man. Orm’rak yanked his mask free as well, then plunged his fingers into the human’s neck before he ever regained consciousness.
