The coachman reeled on the reigns, stopping the gaudy coach, wheels sliding a foot or so kicking up dust. The coachman twirled from his seat, his rich clothing spinning like a puffy dress.
“What is this, then!?” He yelled with a high pitched, accented voice. His demeanor was anything but a rugged traveler. He had all the self-righteous poise of an upperclassman. “Are all of you Cliff Hangers as clumsy as this one? Or have you scruff been in the drink?” He dusted the nothing from his pristine threads. “Hurry and get him on high again or I’ll file a complaint with your House so quick…”
His reproaching was cut short as a spear whistled and clanged into the floorboard by his curved booties. The coachman watched wide-eyed as it bobbed in place then came to a rest, its spearhead dug near a foot deep into the wooded carriage. He followed the shaft slowly to its end where it pointed towards the abandoned ruins and uncovered a dark, small thing dart from hidden stone, charging down the hill towards his group.
“Bandiiiiiits!” The odd man squealed as he ducked and disappeared under his seat.
Vegard watched as Wera charged the carriage by herself. “Damnation, girl!” He swung himself over the dusty broken wall and gave chase.
The three remaining legionnaires leapt from the cart and formed around the one side. One hefted his spear, took steady aim, and launched the missile. The other two had their swords to bear awaiting the petite thing coming at them.
Wera watched the spear coming forth. She dove forward at the last moment, the spear gliding just barely over her rolling body, and came out of the roll as a charging mound of muscled fur and claws. The fox mask falling away to dangle at her neck like a piece of jewelry on the primal beast.
“It’s a hver!” The coachman found a higher octave from under his seat as he yelled to his guardsman, as if they hadn’t noticed.
Wera barreled down on the group, kicking up grass from the hillside. Her mighty arm swung as she came upon the men.
One was more ready than the rest. The most decorated, and apparent veteran of the group, dodged to the side, barely escaping the deadly claws of the hver.
His companion was not as fortunate. Wera’s girth and speed took the man in the chest, carried him back towards the carriage, and crushed him between her weight and the solid cart behind. Armor crunched like rotted wood. The man within broken as he tumbled to the ground twitching. Then still.
Wera rounded on the other two. The veteran had his longsword ready along with a dagger he pulled from a sheath wrapped around his leg. He twirled the blades, testing their weight.
“Come on, beast!” The leather-faced veteran shouted. His chain helm clanging as he engaged the mountain of fury.
Vegard was sprinting as fast as his feet could carry him. One guard was woozy, pulling himself up from the road, the other was stalking on the outside, spear in hand looking for an opening on the bear’s flank.
Vegard noted the veteran’s obvious skill. His longsword kept Wera’s claws at bay, while quick jabs with the dagger allowed for minor cuts and scraps. But that wasn’t the true intent. The leader was dancing with the hver. Driving her broad side around to open her flank to the spearman.
She was almost in place. Damn petulant little brat! Vegard wouldn’t engage in time. If Wera had waited as they planned…
Vegard summoned the energy he had absorbed up through his body. He willed the energy into shape and pushed it from the pits of where ever it was stored, forcing it through his left arm and into his palm. He could see it gathering in his hand like a floating glob of ink. He gripped his wrist with his right hand and pushed! “Go, damn you!”
The energy shot forth from his hand. The force so powerful it rocked his arm backwards and stopped him dead in his tracks as if he’d hit an invisible wall.
The ball of shadow given form raced through the air. It slammed into the spearman, knocking him backwards like a punch from a giant. The man clipped the back wheel of the cart, flipping several times, before falling into a heap of leather and chain.
Vegard broke out in an instant cold sweat. He had expended all his soul energy in a solitary blast. Something he had never done before. Never thought to do before.
A mix of celebration and ungodly cold washed over him. He almost doubled over if it wasn’t for the need for action. Wera was still facing off against the skilled swordsman and the other soul-drunk fool was gathering his wits, pulling his sword from its scabbard. The fat man didn’t seem much a threat at the moment.
Vegard shook his frostbitten mind and picked up speed. He carried himself down the slope, whipping Blacktooth out of its home, and came spinning into a cut at the once woozy guard.
Steel met steel and the thunderous clang of war rippled through the hillside followed by the spray of sparks. The two combatants were tired, relying on large arching swipes, carried by momentum to deliver hopeful death to their opponent.
This one wasn’t half bad, himself. Vegard had hoped that the lord Shaw would skimp on proper swordsman as the merchant guild alluded to him skimping on the quality of most everything else. The man’s yellow sash swirled about his waist as he continued his backwards defense. Vegard pressed the man, hoping that he could overcome his weary opponent with savage aggression.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Wera still engaging the veteran swordsman. A dagger protruded from her shoulder but otherwise, seemingly, unfazed. A few claws had definitely landed on the veteran.
His breast plate was dented and his left armed dangled and looked slick with fresh blood. His longsword still bit into the hver when she became too impatient. Of which she had an abundance of.
Vegard turned back to his opponent and went on the defense. The man thought the bandit meant to retreat. A renewed vigor in his step as he glided forward and pressed the attack.
With each chopping slash, Vegard parried it away, and siphoned more from the unaware soldier. The man hadn’t seemed to notice. With his hopeful blitz he didn’t realize his increasingly sloppier swings. The way his knees threatened to buckle at any moment. The haze that blurred the edges of his vision. The guard had all the confidence of a drunken brawler, until…Vegard slipped easily past the man’s attack, coiling his arm around the guard’s sword arm and twisted the blade from his grasp.
He snagged the surprised fool by his face and locked his demonic eyes to the guard’s.
“Enough with this farce.” Vegard sneered has he breathed the rest of the man’s essence inside, washing away the painful ache in his cold bones. He breathed a sigh of satisfaction as he allowed his victim to topple backwards into the grassy field.
Now the warlock could help end this deadly dance Wera was lingering on about.
But as Vegard turned to engage, the field between them was engulfed in white light. The crack of thunder sounded as the ground erupted in flame and searing smoke. A fireball the size of a cottage swirled and twisted in place.
Vegard shielded his face the best he could. He instinctively summoned his dark powers forth to absorb some of the sting that bit so very close. As the ball of flaming death dissipated it left a small blackened crater in its wake. Charred rock and dirt rained from the sky like devil’s ash.
Vegard was coughing and trying to wave away the smoke column that the fireball left behind. The whole scene like a dark nightmare from his warring past. The choking fog, the chaos and confusion, the bodies strewn and laying about.
The wind carried the smoke away. He spotted Wera safely on the other side of the crater. She was pawing at her face, scraping away singed furs, but otherwise appeared fine. The veteran, however, was not so lucky. His skin was as black as Vegard’s arms, his clothes and sash burning to dust under armor that glowed like hot coals. An unfortunate end for a talented swordsman.
But what had happened?
Vegard heard whimpering sobs coming from the carriage. He looked up to see the opulent coachman cowering atop with a large scroll flapping in his meaty hands.
“You little…” V
egard fumed. He crossed the distance, and leapt atop the carriage. He finally noticed the horses who were frantically pawing in place and struggling against their restraints.
The coachman folded in upon himself in cowardice. He looked like a shivering pile of silk and fluff. Vegard snatched the scroll from the man’s hands and looked it over. The words were symbols. Runic drawings in mage speak. Their magical green energies fluttering and dying out as the last of their properties vanished from whence they came, leaving the page blank.
“A scroll!?” Vegard bellowed. “You used a scroll, you fat, putrid…!”
“A mistake, humble sir!” The pile of clothes cried. “I meant only to scare…I had no idea…”
Vegard discarded the empty sheet of paper to the wind and fished around under the seat of the carriage. In a hidden compartment he found two more scrolls and a simple crossbow. He gathered the scrolls and snagged the coachman by the scruff. He leapt from the carriage and allowed the cowardly fool to crumple unceremoniously next to him.
Wera had formed herself to girl, once again. The dagger in her shoulder fell limply to the ground as the fur receded and muscle took new form. She sported minor cuts and bruising from her tussle with the veteran swordsman. A lot of her wounds were buffered by her thick bear hide. She fixed her bandit’s mask over her face and fished her spear from the side of the carriage.
“Are we going to send a message?” She asked grimly, hovering the point of her spear in the face of the coachman. He whimpered and attempted to skulk away. Vegard yanked him back towards his feet and pressed him into the dirt with a boot.
“Cut the horses loose.”
They did, and then went about gathering whatever expensive loot they could from the ostentatious wagon. When the horses were long gone Vegard and Wera bound the man, legs and hands, then lifted him up to a standing position.
Vegard shoved one of the scrolls in the man’s face. His small, sweaty nose touching the center of the parchment. “What does this say?”
The coachman was confused. His face twisted. “What do you mean, oh bandit lord?” He twitched. “It is a scroll, like you said. Producing…the fire…that you saw.”
Vegard shook him by the scruff. “I can’t very well read it, now can I? I’m not a mage. Nor part of their ilk.” He glared at the man menacingly. “But you can…” He glowered. “Teach me the words. On the page. Now.”
A loving touch of Wera’s spear on the coachman’s cheek seemed to convince the man of its necessity. He spoke the words slowly. Enunciating each but never allowed to touch the magical parchment else set it off.
Vegard attempted the words. A series of tongue twisting, foreign sounds, that caused more spittle than magic. He grunted and stomped in frustration. Wera tore the page from his hand. “Gods, you northman speak like you’re chewing food. Let me.” She held the scroll up and said the incantation.
Nothing.
Vegard laughed. “Oh! What was that, precious bear girl…?” The carriage suddenly exploded within a violent ball of flame. The suddenness knocked the trio on their backsides. Wood splintered and debris shot in every direction and another column of smoke rose from another shallow crater that sunny day on the road next to the Hillside Ruins.
The bandits shook the dirt from their dusty leathers. They smacked the ringing from their ears. “Two explosions in one day just outside the city…” Vegard finally said. “Maybe we should…”
“Yeah.” Wera nodded.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ember Foxes
Fencing the goods was easy enough in the diverse city of Dawns Fero. A few of the rare potteries were easily parted with on the second tier. The rest of it was fenced in the lower tier of the city. Wera had played the part of mule, begrudgingly. Saddle bags strapped to her bear form during the trek back to town.
They left the pompous fool done up like a Winter’s Eve pig ready for roasting, out by the ruins.
The pair had avoided the northern entrance to the city that they had originally entered from. If the yellow sashes had guards in their midst, it didn’t bode well for two odd travelers carrying an inventory of recently stolen goods without any sort of paperwork to account for, to check into the city by any legal means.
There was a southern gate more worthy of this sort of illicitventure. The group of men playing at Taps didn’t so much as blink a scrupulous eye when they were slipped a little payment for their cooperation. Vegard and Wera sauntered by, saddlebags of Shaw’s stolen goods slung over their shoulders, a busy night ahead as the goods were sold off to the highest blackmarket bidder.
The two collapsed back in their high room at the Sweaty Seafarer. All that was left was the last of the fireball scrolls and two hefty pouches of gold. Wera dumped the contents out,
“By the realm…” Her eyes glittered like the pile of gold before her. “Eighty-seven gold pieces, some silver, and a handful of coppers.” The riches rained between her fingers. “I’ve never seen so much gold.”
“There will be more.” Vegard said through tired, slitted eyes.
“We coulda got plenty more for them horses.” She said.
“Fat chance at that. Animals don’t take with warlocks all that well. Woulda been like wrangling birds.”
Wera scratched at the back of her head. “Yeah, they ain’t much for me, either. Think they can smell the predator in me.”
“The predator in you?” Vegard chuckled. “Or is it the dirt?” He grinned.
“Bah!” She scowled at the warlock, yet a faint curve of her lip gave her brooding mask away. “Going to bed, northman. Don’t wake me unless for bacon.” She crawled back to her corner, changed form, and curled into a big furry ball, snoring before their candle flickered to smoke.
It was a busy week for the slaves turned bandits. The itinerary for Darold Shaw’s shipments were sporadic. Yessriel was a grand continent and it took much in the way of planning for goods to be properly packaged, loaded, and set to leave the city.
The next hit was headed for the southern tip of the continent following the Jagged Coast. Rich silks from the lands of Temuria seemed so much lighter than the last carriage they had robbed. A welcome reprieve from fragile, heavy pots and crafted goods.
Their attack was better executed, as well. Wera sprang from the jagged rocks that crested the beachside. The hver, charging the front carriage, spooked the horses with her growling form, sending them running away. The wide eyed coachman and guards held for dear life as the beasts galloped wildly down the beaten path.
The other carriage sprang to life just to be cowed as an explosive blast ruptured the ground next to them, rocking the carriage to and fro and sending the guards flailing like children to the dirt.
A few awkward lessons from Wera had Vegard speaking the magic language of the scroll like a stuttering, but effective, fool.
The warlock was upon the men like a demon before they could gather themselves proper. He shattered the teeth of one with the pommel of Blacktooth before turning confidently on the coachman and torching his soul like rice paper. The other men had their arms up in surrender before Wera’s hulking form came trotting next to her dark companion.
“Not dealing with another wizardly coachman.” Vegard said, his words slightly muffled through the wooden fox mask. Wera grunted in affirmation.
There were no scrolls this time around. Most were illegal and rare, anyways, outside of a registry of allowed users. The last coachman must have paid plenty to smuggle those amongst his person.
The goods were extracted and the guards were disarmed and locked away in the carriage without so much as a volatile gesture. Something about a fox-faced man that can melt souls and a monstrous bear tended to bring out the best in people. The silks and various spices were sold off before the sun had descended below the rolling hills to the west.
Vegard and Wera clinked mugs and counted out their return in the safety and seclusion of their tavern hideout.
The following nig
ht was a raid on Shaw’s private warehouse on the docks. Word had spread throughout the city of the ‘Ember Foxes’— demon bandits who burned their victims with fire and hellish magic. A phantasmal group of violent thugs who appeared with a flash of light and left nothing but smoke and death in their wake.
The warehouse workers sorting goods in the dockyard warehouse were not about to have their Storrhale loving souls cooked for some foreign merchant and his private commerce.
When the two appeared, like shades in the night, the laborers became immediately silent and obedient.
Though the duos inventory of scrolls were long depleted it did nothing to banish the rumors that swarmed. Every man, woman, and child kept an almost reverential, bowed head to the floor as the two bandits picked their way through the inventory at ease. As if they were nobles shopping for new embroidered sheets.
Wera pulled a large blanket down that was covering a large pile of cages. The cloth fell revealing cage after stacked cage of exotic animals from all about the realm.
“Dear gods…” Wera whimpered. “These poor things.”
Large, predatory cats prowled about their cages. Birds jumped and clattered from one set of bars to the next. Their multicolored wings flapping and loosing beautifully decorated feathers. Bipedal apes, monkeys, and other humanoid beasts twirled in circles, squealing and chirping loudly.
Vegard approached the swath of captured animals. “I’ve never seen half such creatures in my life.” He tapped the bars sending an odd creation to fold itself into an armored casing. “What in the hells do people want with these? Food?”
Vegard had never understood the necessity for an animal outside of sustenance. Animals had never understood the necessity of Vegard outside of hissing at him and darting away.
“Companionship.” Wera said, an uncharacteristic softness creeping into her voice.
Vegard shrugged. “I guess.” He found a raven sitting stoically in one. “Let us take one of these.”
“Why?”
“Practice.”
A Forgotten Soul: The Vegard Orlo Saga Page 12
