by Jason Jones
The time to finish the elf now immediate, the man let out a yell of valor, striking high, then to the flank, and moving forward on his cornered elven swordsman. His feint was over, and now he unleashed a ringing of steel upon this famed killer. His blade dropped to the ground, gauntlet still holding the hilt, pain spun in his arm like lightning. His arm was gone at the elbow in a flash of steel. A second blade punctured his chest dead center, the heat sizzling flesh as it went hilt deep through the man forcing out a bloodcurdling scream. The Nadderi had been waiting, and the man hit his knees as the blade burned his insides.
“Aaaahhhhh!”
The longsword flashed in his right and it spun around in the gloved hand of the Nadderi elf. It then punctured the mercenary’s throat, pushing out the other side. Kendari walked toward the trolls, both blades still sticking through the mercenary, and he bowed empty handed.
Hisses from the trolls rose and blood sprayed from the man's neck. Kendari walked up to his foe, reaching to pull the blades from his body. The man was unable to scream or speak, amputated forearm trying desperately like his remaining hand to dislodge the weapon before it was too late. Kendari smiled, circled around the dying mercenary, hands folded together as if in prayer.
“Not even close,” whispered the Nadderi into the man’s ear, pulling his enchanted blades from the corpse, allowing him to fall to the ground. His face, in a blood-soaked mess of his own, landed next to the satyr, who stared in horror, eye to eye with a dead man with no name.
“Feast, my friends, feast. But leave me the head.” Kendari cleaned his blades on his torn black cloak, and watched as things in the hidden camp went back to his control. “And get this caravan ready to move, I tire of this frozen swamp already.”
Night winds seemed to circle the camp, no stars could the satyr see from his position on the ground from which he dared not move. He had heard the body of the mercenary being stripped and devoured hours ago, now the trolls were moving slowly, resting after hours of packing chests and stolen goods onto wooden wagons they would be pulling soon. Black leather boots appeared near his face, his body was lifted by the clawed hands of a troll, the one that had beaten him and scarred his back in nights previous. The same one cut by the heated longsword of the Nadderi elf Bedesh now knew as Kendari. His rump was seated with force onto a tree stump, facing the wicked elven swordsman, facing the eyes of deep green and the pale face with spiral black veins marking him as more than merely dangerous. His smile and elven features, high pointed ears, polished dark armor and blades did much to remindthe satyr that he could not possibly be trusted.
“Trolls, give me silence if you would,” Kendari asked, politely, mocking his own murderous nature.
“Bedesh, you know me by now, and you know Shiver.” Kendari drew the blade with the heat that rose from it, the one with a silver and ruby pommel, from his side, trails of steam rising in the cold midnight wind.
“Please, don’t cut me with that, please put it away, please.” Bedesh was blinking, squirming in the ropes that bound him. His breathing rapid, he thought his chest would burst before he got free. His fur stood up all over his body, and he scrambled with his little hooves to dig a place to stand and try and get some leverage to escape. The blade was covered in strange markings of two headed birds and men kneeling, visible through the shifting aura of heat it emitted. Bedesh stared, still working to get free, as the elf waved it under his nose playfully. The satyr barely noticed as small drips of urine ran down his leg onto the stump he sat upon.
“Ha ha ha, please, please he says, ha!” The grin widened on Kendari’s face, placing Shiver back in its sheath, and drawing out the other sword with the black pyramid pommel.
“Would you prefer this one, then? No special name, but I assure you it will spill much more blood. Or this one?” Kendari reached near the edge of the wagon, unsheathing Bedesh’s blade.
“Did you know that this weapon of yours is enchanted as well? I could try it out for you...see what it does to you...slowly,” the elf caressed the satyr’s fur with the flat of his blade, a light green glow emitting from it. “Ahh, what does it do, Bedesh of the satyrs?”
“It warns me when danger is nnn-nn-near. Anything that that that, the fey do not like…it glows.” His voice was skipping and stuttering, daring not to lie to the killer before him. “Please don’t hurt me, pp-pplease.”
“It must be warning you of me then, Bedesh. But I see no change in the glow, so I think you were lied to. For if there is one enemy of the fey, I would be it. It should be a beacon now, so bright as to blind us, but it is not. I have another warning for you, this one is real though. Tell me all I want to know, and you will retain your hooves, your horns, your eyes, and your ability to speak for the remainder of your life as my prisoner.” Kendari tickled each of the parts he spoke of with the flat of the weapon’s edge, staring, no smile, into the tearing brown eyes of the forest creature.
“That that is more more…like a threat….it it seems,” Bedesh stuttered.
“Well, thank you for correcting me. That it is, indeed.”
Crack! Bedesh’s face turned aside from a backhand.
“Agree to tell me what I would know?”
“Yes…yes..yes.”
“Who is the elven woman you tried to protect so failingly at the ruins of Arouland, and what were you doing there?” the edge of the sword made its way by Bedesh’s ankles.
“We left from Gualidura, but she, umm Shinayne, Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin came first from Kilikala. We have been following Lavress, her lover, to here, as he was was-was, umm, hunting a traitorous elf named Eliah Shendrynn.” The satyr squirmed, knowing he told too much, but left much out as well, and he released a gasp for air as the blade rose away from his legs.
“Lady of Kilikala, eh? And Eliah? I know Eliah Shendrynn, for certain. Interesting.” Kendari knew the T’Sarrin name and was not surprised that one of that particular highborn family was out dealing justice. He recalled that name from four centuries prior, at his sentencing and punishment at the Nadderi Tree. The blade moved to Bedesh’s horns, small and fuzzy brown tipped in white, causing him to squirm again.
“And the minotaur, Bedesh, tell me of him and the scroll he supposedly carries.” Kendari whispered now, not that the trolls would understand much, but to further frighten his prey.
“Just met him rr-rr-really, Saberrak from under the ruins. I don’t know ab-bb-bout any scroll.” His fear increased, not from the whisper, but from not knowing something this cursed elf wanted to know. His right hand was wriggled free, yet Bedesh kept it back there until he got free of the rest.
“Very well, you are doing very well, my friend. The human, the knight they rescued on the field, who is he?” the enchanted blade, glowing green in the darkness, moved to the satyr's ears now. Kendari purposefully nicked one, drawing out a wince and some blood from his prisoner.
“Look, it does glow brighter, and it is not angry when it draws fey blood. Elven lies, are they not the most flavorful?” Kendari admired the blood upon the steel, and tried to hold his stomach. The eerie green glow was indeed making him uneasy, yet he hid it from the satyr.
“The knight. Stay focused, Bedesh” The blade came close to his horns again.
“I don’t know him, never met him ever. Please don’t ki-ki-kill me, please.” Bedesh felt the scratch on his ear, but now both hands were free, though he kept them hidden behind his back. His eyes darted, looking for an easy route to flee from the trolls and his would be executioner.
“So, the elven lady left you to die for a crazed knight you had never met with a minotaur you had also just met? Precious, truly. Elven loyalty has never been my specialty Bedesh, as you can see. But seriously, you must force yourself to find new friends someday.” Kendari threw the glowing blade into the wagon, and paced back to the satyr, trying not to get sick.
I will make sure that sword is melted down by morning.
“Now, you have cooperated so well tonight, I have decided to let you go. I do
not know what Salah-Cam would have me or the trolls do to you should you come with me, so you are free to go. Now go. I know your hands are free already, go Bedesh.”
Never had the satyr felt such relief, such surprise, tears rolled out of his forest eyes, smiling, he untied his ankles above the hooves. Never looking back, not once, Bedesh ran north into the cold of night, not caring where he was, glad only to be free from what he had accepted as certain death. His hooves stamped through snow covered marsh and crisp grassy hills, leaving the firelight of the troll camp behind him.
Hissing from a dozen and a half trolls, lurking and pacing around the elf, were wanting answers from questions they dared not ask. Red glowing eyes surrounded the Nadderi as he sat on the stump, letting down his guard.
“Ready?” the elf was toying with them, knowing full well the fiends would catch the satyr in minutes.
“Whoever brings him back to me gets to whip the wagon pullers! Alive, remember, a gift for Salah-Cam. Well, what are you waiting for? Chase him down!”
The trolls scrambled, screeching dozens of vicious war cries and hisses into the night. Kendari stood up on the stump, watching his giant green beasts rush out through the darkness, hearing faint cries from the satyr, who clearly heard his pursuit begin. He looked down at the remains of the mercenary, looked right into the eyes that had frosted over in death.
“That looks like fun, now doesn’t it? Yes I know, wicked and cursed, you can keep those comments to yourself dead one. I can’t let him leave. The elven woman will come for him, you will see. And, the minotaur will likely come with her, perhaps that knight too. Then, more treasures, and more for me in the end. If you had used your head, like me, you would not be in the position you are in now.” Kendari laughed, hopping down from the stump, laughing directly at the decapitated head of the dead man he had been conversing with.
“You were not even close, my deceased friend, no one is.”
Hissing sprang up through the frozen willows, red eyes appeared from all over. One of the foul trolls carried the satyr, and Kendari heard the tears and whimpering of a broken forest spirit.
“How touching Bedesh, you have decided to come back to us.” Kendari grabbed the long frayed black whip from the wagon, and the ropes from the stump. “Tie him tight this time, and have fun with this.”
The Nadderi tossed the whip to the troll carrying the satyr, seeing his black fanged smile stretch wide. “We leave in one hour, get moving gentlemen, Shiver may get restless tonight.”
The troll cracked the whip, moving his kin to finish loading the caravan, the satyr tied up and tossed in with the rest of the loot. Looking in the dark, Bedesh saw at least six more sets of frightened eyes looking at him from within the wagon, bound and helpless, just like him.
Exodus I:III
South Chazzrynn Wilds
Frozen tree branches seemed to lash out at the gray minotaur as he charged through the forest, not having time to weave. His massive body cut the path for James, who could barely keep up, both of them running low on breath. Saberrak noticed the elf had no difficulty maneuvering through the winter woods, and stayed a step or two ahead of him without effort. Running at this pace for almost a day now on and off, James had been slowing, looking back to see if the small tribe of ogre still pursued. And every time he looked, they were still only a few hundred yards back, and more in number. They had been driven south randomly, and the ogre were not giving up.
“How close are they?” the gray gladiator pushed harder, feeling frustration from inside himself, not knowing where they were heading. He had always fought to the death, he had that mindset, and every time he had stood and won. That was Unlinn, but here on the surface in the cold strange land of Chazzrynn, he had been running.
“Which ones? The six right behind, or the twenty behind them, or the five on brahmas?” James was gasping, his armor slowing him, feeling his age and lack of health. Sweat poured down his face into his beard, evaporating slightly in the winter wind.
“What is a brahma?” Saberrak tried to keep pace with the elven woman, now attempting to dodge every tree. He heard many surprising clanks and growls from James behind him as they quickly ran into thicker woods. Not prepared for the change in strategy with the forest, James now had to watch for snapping branches more than the back of his horned ally.
“Brahmas, large smelly and hairy. Four legged beasts of burden, horns…big enough for…a pair of…ogre….or three men…to ride on…huge shaggy….war beasts.” James was gasping, saw a clearing, his breath giving out, beginning to stumble as he spoke.
“Reminds me of someone we know, James…” Shinayne stopped, drawing her short and long curved elven blades out, positioning behind a tree at the edge of the clearing. She knew that James was out of breath and they would have to stand here.
“I am not shaggy, elf.” Saberrak huffed, loosing his great twin bladed axe off his back, straps falling to the snow covered forest floor. He too, felt the need to stand. The ogre were not going to give up and the clearing would only give them room to surround with those big beasts they rode in the rear.
“They are herding us north, like…cattle. Likely, right…into…another tribe.” James was bent over, staring at his boots in the snow, gasping for air. He nodded to Shinayne as he stood straight once more, and she weaved ahead toward the edge of the clearing. “We won’t reach Kalik, I don’t even know where we are at this point.”
“How far to the nearest city?” Shinayne twirled her blades in unison, eyes searching for their closing enemies.
“Not sure…I am lost. Can you see anything east?” James took deep breaths, trying to steady himself. His slow steps took him ahead, walking now just to time his inhales and exhales.
Shinayne peered out from behind her cover. The edge of the clearing gave way to a field, and her eyes watched the treeline coming down the ravine. Damn it.
“James is right, at least thirty more moving to cut us off north. Just a long wide field ahead.”
Saberrak snorted and gripped his axe. “Shield up James, stay in the cover of…”
“Southwind Keep.” James pointed, kneeling from exhaustion. Through the clearing to the north he saw the tip of a great walled keep beyond Alvander Field, its guard towers, the fifty foot castle walls stretching over the hills, just a small view before they faded into the sky. He saw the smoke trails further north, surely from Elcram, and the faint outline of the slanted roof of the church of Alden. “I know this place, hurry!”
“Can we make it?” Shinayne did a double glance from the faint outline on the snow swept horizon, then back to James.
“Alden have mercy, maybe, but this place may want me dead more than the ogre.” The knight staggered forward, ignoring the crashes of trees and heavy boot steps charging through the forest edge. “To Southwind!”
Too late, the frontline ogre had closed at the end of the woods, six of them, armed with swords of polished bone and spears taller than the almost eight feet of Saberrak. James pulled his shield, drew Arlinne’s broadsword, marching toward the first beast in his path, the path hopefully to wine. The yellow-skinned brute swung his bone blade two handed at the head of the knight, missing the determined man and cleaving half through a maple tree, where the blade wedged. James wasted no time, nor slowed his pace, eyes set on Southwind. He cut low into the ogre’s thigh, hitting bone at the end of his follow through, and then plunged the tip of his blade into the ribs. The crosspiece stopped at furs and skin. James pulled the blade out from behind him, as he had not even stopped his forward momentum, hearing the familiar sound of ogre corpse meeting the ground a moment later with a defeated roar.
“James, wait!” Saberrak roared as he ran after him.
Shinayne hid behind the tree perfectly, covering her from the charging ogre, her blades crossed in front of her. The first one stepped into the clearing, turning his tusked face, black stringy hair whipping the tree above her head. His spear raised in anticipation of his prey to emerge from the woods, not prepar
ed for quick short cuts to his triceps and ribs. Roaring in pain and surprise, the ogre turned to spear to his left, the side where the cuts had been made, but nothing was there. The elf cut deep into the hamstring of his left leg from behind with her shortblade and plunged her curved steel twice into its lower back with her right.
Not wanting to wait for the beast to try and counter, she moved to catch up with James who had started his march into the clearing. She guessed the field and hills was three quarters a mile to the wall, too far for a hard march if they intended to avoid capture. Yet she moved forward with her new allies nonetheless.
The minotaur swung low at the ogre’s shins, missing intentionally. The beast skirted his feet back, throwing his balance forward. Saberrak knocked his bone sword away, his axe chipping it, then stepped forward, his face to the ogre’s chest. His reach just enough to grab a handful of oily ogre hair and pull down, ramming the eye of his enemy into his right horn, jerking with all his muscle. His other horn cut through the side of the head as blood and more ran down his horns and neck. As the spasming stopped, he lowered his head, releasing the dead ogre, and then hurled it into another that was charging him. It tumbled to the ground, spilling over its dead kin, then Saberrak waited till they were a foot away. As it looked up at the minotaur, his axe raised, and chopped the stunned beast in the back of the neck, decapitating it. Saberrak picked up the bone blade, much like a large knife to him, and tucked it into his belt.
Running, seeing many more ogre and his friends in the clearing already, the gladiator sprinted to keep together. As he passed out of the forest, to his left and right he saw the numbers. Dozens there were, and the huge flat faced brahmas, an ogre on each of the five, now six of them. Some faces were familiar, ogre he had seen in Unlinn. They had been flanked, and retreat was cut off as well. Saberrak grinned under his curved bloody horns. He had been outnumbered before in the arena, though never this much, but the feeling came, the determined stare of the gladiator. If Shinayne and James spoke to him, he did not hear it . He stood with the human knight and the elven woman he had known but four days. The ogre had found him, but this time he was not alone.
