by Kris Kramer
Chapter 12
“Brian, stop flinging those swords around like floppy wet fish!”
Liam watched in horror as his new apprentice attempted to fend off a medium-sized cave spider in Teekwood Caverns. Thorns trained in the ways of fighting with a weapon in each hand, but Brian might as well have been poking at the spider with a pointy stick.
“Brian, you’re trying to kill it, not trim its hair. Keep your wrists loose, but swing those arms with some machismo,” Liam instructed, exasperated with the young firbolg.
In general, firbolgs made fantastic Thorns, so Liam had been overjoyed to finally receive one as a student. Brian was well over seven feet tall and boasted fantastically broad shoulders. At first glance, this trainee represented all the physical traits that formed one of the great Thorns, who killed seemingly limitless numbers of enemies with deft strokes of their swords and an air of well-earned self-confidence. The teacher of such a powerful Thorn would surely receive endless accolades and praise, quickly moving into the position of Master Trainer. Liam salivated at the thought of that prospect, despite his original reluctance in accepting his mandatory reassignment to the teaching corps.
Unfortunately, Liam’s overhyped hopes faced a grim realization: Brian couldn’t fight his way out of a damp wicker basket. The oaf would’ve had better luck just kicking the spider rather than flailing his arms around with all the grace and coordination of a three-legged dog learning to dance. Liam had hoped the trip out to the caverns would excite and inspire his young follower into revealing some hidden talent for extreme greatness, but the journey had proved fruitless thus far.
And, mercifully, the fight ended. The odds were good that swinging two large swords at a target long enough would eventually result in hitting and killing that target. When the target was a mostly decrepit and harmless spider, the odds increased dramatically for most people, but apparently not for poor Brian.
Liam’s dreams of grandeur all but slipped away.
One look at the firbolg told Liam that reality had started to attack Brian’s self-confidence: The slump of the gigantic shoulders, the sadness on his wide face. Firbolgs weren’t known as a particularly happy race, but Brian looked that much glummer.
“Maybe I’m not a Thorn,” he whined with the trademark deep bass voice of the firbolg race.
“With that kind of attitude you certainly aren’t,” Liam stated with perfectly choreographed hand gestures.
Brian’s whole body seemed to implode even further.
“Yet,” Liam added, marveling at his own timing.
The firbolg’s face rose, his large eyes meeting Liam’s.
“You have all the makings of a Thorn, Brian, but you’ve got to find that swashbuckling, adventurous spirit within you!”
For added emphasis, Liam bounded towards the tunnel wall and leapt into the air, performing a series of jumps and spins off of the stone surface.
“We are the proudest of all Andua’s guardians,” he yelled in mid-flight. “Some might say too proud, but I say ‘too proud’ does not exist!”
As with all of Liam’s intense displays of physical prowess, Brian looked thoroughly impressed.
As he should be! Liam thought in the middle of an inverted spin.
Liam stuck the landing with a flourish and a flashy smile, his black cloak swirling epically behind him, only to see his trainee staring down towards the opposite end of the tunnel. The smile disintegrated. Why wasn’t this peon worshipping his grand feats of agility?
“What’s so interesting, Brian?” he asked politely. A gallant Thorn was always polite. Well, usually.
“Um . . . I think some nuathreens are in trouble down there,” Brian said, a little unsure of himself. “Can’t you hear it?” he added cautiously.
Despite hearing nothing of the sort, Liam couldn’t help himself.
“Of course! Let’s save the day, young one,” he exclaimed, charging in the supposed direction of the supposed altercation.
The startled cries of a pair of nuathreens did indeed meet Liam’s ears about halfway down the tunnel. So the student did have at least some small advantage over the teacher. Interesting, but of course superb hearing did nothing to increase proficiency with a pair of sharpened implements of death. That much was painfully apparent each time Brian tried to clobber an enemy.
The short and dainty nuathreens shrieked and danced around a wild pack of adolescent cave spiders that were intent on devouring the diminutive warriors. Liam immediately noticed that both screaming nuathreens wielded two swords, but he used the word wielded loosely. These were no Thorns. No, these were merely trackers, far inferior to the Thorn in blade skill, but at least they could dodge better than a three-legged dog with a cold.
In Liam’s mind, one of the trademarks of any good melee fighter involved the correct and appropriate use of catchphrases. For example, to mark the occasion of charging into battle, Liam had coined the phrase, “I’m flyin’ in!” Brian hadn’t reached the stage in his training yet where he deserved the use of such exclamations of intent, at least, not in Liam’s estimations. Of course, Liam already had a collection of suggestions for Brian to use, such as, “I’m going deep!” Yes, that was a solid suggestion.
With his well-practiced war cry and a totally unnecessary burst of speed, Liam roared through the cave spiders, hacking and slashing in a blur of motion usually reserved for humans running to the outhouse after a close encounter with firbolg cuisine. Within seconds, a gory mess of twitching spider remains lay strewn across the tunnel floor, walls, and ceiling. The two blood-splattered nuathreens stood in what Liam assumed could only be complete and unadulterated awe.
Without waiting for the two to snap out of their worshipful trance, Liam sheathed one of his shiny blades and used the other to remove a few intact spider legs to sell to the witches back aboveground. Those crazy old hags were always looking for such ingredients to stir into those foul-smelling—and foul-tasting—stews of theirs.
A sharp object poked Liam in the buttocks. He turned to stare into the eyes of a bloodied and fuming nuathreen. Their physical appearance always put a smile on Liam’s face. They had such small and fragile bodies that were topped off with a disproportionately large head. Sitting on his haunches, Liam stood eye-to-eye with the nuathreen, whose green cloak was secured around his scrawny neck by a hawk brooch, confirming his membership in King Darren’s trackers.
“Just what in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, mate?” asked the scowling nuathreen.
Confused, the noble Thorn replied, “How do you do, nuathreen? I am Liam, and I am just collecting my fee.”
The scowl turned furious.
“Your fee? Your fee for what exactly, mate?”
Liam didn’t have much experience chatting with nuathreens, but he suspected that the tracker didn’t mean mate in a literal sense, or in any positive sense for that matter. Confusing creature.
“For saving you and your companion, of course.”
“You’ve lost the plot, you have!” exclaimed the nuathreen. “You believe this git, Gil? This bloke says he saved us. Like we needed savin’!”
“Aye, a right pile of shite that is, Bruce” added the second nuathreen, Gil apparently.
The pair continued to babble in increasingly quick language that Liam recognized less and less. Coming from a noble, southern birth had left the Thorn a bit out of touch with northern forest-folk like these, but no matter what, the protocol was clear: If no reward was offered for services rendered, then no reward would be taken. Also, Liam had to remain honorable and polite, despite the nuathreens’ rudeness. Well, he suspected they were being rude; it was hard to tell at this point.
“Of course you are correct, little masters. We will be on our way now. Come, Brian.”
Liam could hear the continued verbal foray as he and Brian wandered off back the way they had come.
“Who is he calling little masters? I’ve got a good mind to brain that ee
jit.”
“Aye, right you are, Bruce.”
“The pair on that bloke, thinking he can steal from us!”
“Aye, can’t believe it myself, Bruce.”
Their ungrateful animosity perplexed Liam. Surely they should appreciate his help. As far as he’d seen at the time, those spiders had held the upper hand against the outmatched and undersized nuathreens. The feisty little trackers certainly had heart, but they seemed to lack the necessary skills to succeed in close quarters combat. And despite having heart, the pair certainly lacked manners. Any rescued individual should always show their appreciation to the rescuer, preferably with money, but spider legs would also suffice. How would word of his altruistic exploits gain him fame if the recipients of his aid didn’t praise his name from the rooftops, or at least yell his name throughout the tunnels of Teekwood Caverns?
“THORN! HELP!”
The high-pitched scream piqued Liam’s curiosity. Obviously a damsel in distress had heard of his grand accomplishments, and in her darkest hour had called out his name. He stopped in the tunnel and looked around for connecting passageways. Now, where could she be?
“Liam, those nuathreens are coming,” Brian said.
The interruption broke Liam from his search for his endangered fair maiden. Irritated at his presumptuous student, he looked back down the tunnel and saw the pair of trackers sprinting their big hearts out and screaming their little lungs out. So that at least explained the womanlike squeals for help. Liam was sorely disappointed. He hadn’t rescued a lady in a while, and they always offered a reward, and not always in silver pieces.
Unfortunately, Liam had no time to reminisce about his female conquests. The nuathreens ran with good reason: A horde of bloodthirsty hulks stomped after them. Torchlight reflected off the scaly, armored hides as the monstrous creatures made up ground on the trackers, whose twig-like legs moved in a blur.
A less honorable man would’ve definitely yelled something along the lines of, “Wait, so now you need my help?”
Liam looked at Brian and smiled. Brian carefully smiled back, looking a bit confused. Ah, what a treat the young firbolg was in for. It wasn’t every day that Liam encountered a mass of foes who would stress his fighting ability to its gloriously high limits. In preparation, Liam ran a hand slowly through his luxurious, wavy brown hair.
“Watch and learn, my young apprentice,” Liam announced, drawing both of his swords from the sheaths that protected the rest of the world from them.
Legs pumping with reckless abandon, Liam charged directly towards his incoming victims, yelling, “I’m flyin’ in!”
He leapt over the fleeing nuathreens, one of whom may have said, “What the bloody hell?”
All but one of the hulks slowed to a cautious lope at Liam’s fearless approach, a little unsure what to make of this heroic human, Liam was sure. Only one, obviously the leader, continued its stampede towards the Anduains. The beast growled loudly and hefted a large, meaty fist over its head. The giant appendage didn’t faze Liam; he’d fought larger and meatier fists in his time.
The two combatants closed in, and the hulk’s gargantuan fist plummeted to the ground on which Liam stood. He gracefully evaded to the left and thrust a blade towards the hulk’s exposed side. The sword scratched harmlessly across thick armor, indicating to Liam that this foe wasn’t the run-of-the-mill hulk that he’d fought in the past. Liam easily gave up at least one foot in height and one hundred and fifty pounds in weight to his furious adversary, whose raging red eyes now found their target.
The large arm moved sideways with amazing speed, performing a wicked cross-cut as Liam ducked and evaded once more. Parrying the blow seemed a bit out of the question considering the heft behind the fist. This creature had ludicrously stumpy legs but was all heft in the upper body department. As the hulk’s flailing arm created a rush of air over his head, Liam looked up to see the hulk’s legs open before him. A crease in the enemy’s armor exposed flesh on the inner thigh. Liam’s sword found the spot, slicing through the relatively soft piece of hide, right down to the bone.
Without waiting for the hulk’s cry of panic to reach his ears, Liam jumped straight up and grabbed onto the back of the hulk’s head-crest with his left hand. Pulling down hard enough on the boney ridge to keep his own feet floating off the ground, Liam sliced at the beast’s stout, scaly neck.
The blade slid right off, not even causing a nick in the tough skin. A shake from the hulk’s head sent Liam sprawling to the floor. The hulk’s muscle-bound arm swung above its head once more, ready to finish its dazed opponent. Liam looked up in a haze, now a little worried about the outcome of the fight. Victory had seemed assured, but now he’d fallen behind.
Before the mighty fist could start its deadly descent, a pair of arrows ripped into the hulk’s face, right between the eyes. The animal collapsed backwards immediately, a fountain of blood spraying the ceiling in a messy arc. Liam closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his nerves feeling a little shot by his brush with near-death.
“It’s about time you moved your arse out of the way,” declared a high voice behind Liam.
Liam rolled his eyes. Such gentlemen.
But they had saved him, so did that make them even? Did he owe them anything? Surely not. The thought of owing anyone anything made Liam’s head hurt.
“Well, this can’t get any worse,” he muttered.
A small herd of hulks nearby seemed to believe otherwise.
