Vinston-Fret and Braxton both looked on in awe at the howling creature until the elf realized his arm was on fire. He quickly doused it in some water that had been splashed across the deck, but it did no good. The flames kept burning. Only when he came out of his shirt did he escape their scorching effect.
As a result of Suclair's fire, the creature let out a sound that was as full of anger as it was pain. With a violent thrust, it pushed the ship away and let go. The sudden movement caused Cryelos to go slinging out into the water along with a few more of the panicked crew members. The beast's head disappeared into the sea, but before it left completely, it smacked what must've been its tail across the ship and plucked another man from the deck as it dove away.
Braxton had loosed his eighth arrow at the creature when it disappeared under the surface in a sizzling bubbly swirl. The rush of battle still coursed through his veins while he watched wide-eyed, waiting to see if the beast would return. It wasn't until he felt a tapping on his shoulder that he pulled his eyes from the water.
"Look," Sorrell said to him. Not only Braxton, but Suclair, and Vinston-Fret followed Sorrell's outstretched arm and pointing finger.
"Oh, my," Suclair whispered.
"Arbor spare us," came Vinston-Fret's pained voice.
Across the deck, still hacking away at an already severed tentacle, was first prince Darblin Rockheart. The dwarf was covered in blood and gristle and as bare as a baby from the waist down. As if he somehow sensed their eyes on him, he stopped and looked about. He turned a full circle and stopped, facing them. Apparently, he didn't know he'd completely lost his britches.
"That's not physically possible," Suclair said just before she covered her eyes with her hands.
"How —" Sorrell stammered, "— on such a little man"
Braxton rolled his eyes and looked away as well. He doubted he would ever be able to un-see the spectacle.
It was nearly full dark before all the survivors were pulled out of the water. There were no excited smiles or congratulations, and an unvoiced feeling of doom had overtaken them all.
The only good news was that the foremast was still intact and the mainsail was one of the few that had been spared. However, the ship was listing and taking on water in the lower hold.
Everyone waited for Captain Pickerell to report just how bad the damage was. It was a long way back to land no matter which way they went, and the closest shoreline was where the Denizen Swamp met the sea.
The look on the captain's face when he returned to the deck didn't reveal much. Braxton and the others waited patiently for him to tell them how bad it was. Everyone was anxious, especially Suclair, who clung to Nixy as if her life depended on her grip.
The captain came to stand before them. He calmly folded his arms across his chest and heaved out a sigh.
"The Luck of the Little be sinking," he said simply.
Chapter Twenty Six
Dendle, the half-gothican, half-human kobl hunter had a problem. Though it was a much more pleasant dilemma than what he was used to. Usually, he had to go two or three days between sightings, and twice that between substantial kills. His trusty helpers Grunt and Scrub had to be paid, so it usually took a week or more to fill the wagon with enough kobl heads to cover his expenses, which included a courtesy fee he paid Captain Murdle for doing the actual business of collecting the king's bounty that his gothican blood wouldn't allow him to do himself. Today's problem wasn't where to go to find more of the flesh eaters, or how to pay everybody what he owed them, though. Today's problem was how to fit all the kobl heads he and his helpers had taken, in the last two days, into their cart.
Dendle had taken more than a dozen of them by himself, in the dark, while Grunt and Scrub slept. He'd been doing the night hunting secretly since he'd found the ring with the blue cat's eye stone in the cavern Braxton Bray had found.
It wasn't just that the ring allowed him the ability to see in the dark, though it did. It was far more than that. His senses, all of them, were heightened. He could smell like a foxhound and hear like a wolf. He could see like a hawk and move silently like a mountain cat. In the night, he could feel things stirring in the distance before they were in earshot, and long before they became visible. He didn't even need his eyes or ears to hunt anymore. He couldn't explain it, but when anything moved in the night, even the slightest wag of a tail, Dendle could feel it, locate it, and track it. Creeping up and killing the profitable vermin had become an afterthought.
A few days ago, he'd come upon a band of rock trolls, and had he been prepared, he could have made a fortune. The kingdom paid fifty gold for each head of the destructive creatures. The kingdom only paid half of that for the troublesome and more common wood trolls, and a pitiful five gold for the kobls. Luckily, he didn't have to cut Grunt and Scrub in on the kills he'd been making at night. They only got three gold pieces split between them for each kobl they took as a team. Dendle only got a gold and a half himself, for he had to give the captain half a gold per head for selling them to the bounty man.
As he struggled to stretch a tarp over the cart before another of the stinking kobl heads rolled off, something dawned on him. Not only was he a more proficient hunter since he started wearing the ring, there was also a considerable increase in the amount of prey venturing out of the mountains and into the foothills. Kobls and wood trolls had nearly tripled in number over the last few weeks. Now he'd seen rock trolls. Dendle knew something had to be causing the vermin to start wandering toward civilization.
The number of dragon sightings had been higher, too. Usually, only one or two were sighted a year, but at least a dozen had been reported seen since mid-summer, and that was just around Uppervale.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and definitely not one to care if the kingdom was overrun with pesky creatures, Dendle was determined to capitalize on the opportunity. As soon as Grunt and Scrub woke, Dendle planned to send them back to the Uppervale outpost to collect while he continued to hunt. That is if he could ever manage to get the blasted tarp secured.
Captain Murdle would pay them their share and could be trusted to hold his part until he returned.
The higher mountains where he would go hunt the rare and mighty rock trolls was too much for his helpers. If he could get only one, he would make a tidy sum for he wouldn't have to split it. Besides that, his newfound skills allowed him a stealth that the other two would only hinder.
He was prepared for the rock trolls this time. He had poisoned arrows, extra rations, and had gone so far as to remove the noisy metal buckles from his leather armor and replace them with laces. His axe and sword were razor sharp.
He figured his biggest problem would be getting troll heads out of the mountains without getting mauled by a full pack of kobls. They followed the strong, musky smell of dead troll as eagerly as they did the coppery smell of human blood. Dendle decided it was worth the risk because the way he could sense the forest these days, nothing would have a chance to surprise him, and anything that tried would only add to his wealth for trying.
Finally, Grunt woke up and after relieving himself he spent a few moments staring in awe at the fresh heads that had been added to the already large pile in the cart. Eventually, he helped Dendle get the tarp over it all and secured. By then, Scrub was awake and Dendle gave them their instructions and sent them on their way.
He found himself glad to be alone in the wilderness. Those recent hunts had awakened something in him he'd never known he had. He wanted the solitude and the space, to be free of other men. He wandered how much of this new emotion was from the ring, and how much came from his gothican ancestry.
He loved Captain Murdle like a father and the captain was human, but that was different. By nature, gothicans were wild, free thinkers who'd never had need of cities or towns. There was the occasional festival and trading sites, but a permanent town was something that the gothicans never wanted nor needed.
Since their blood had been mingled with that of the h
umans while they were kingdom slaves, that was changing. Some gothicans were educated, and some of them spread what knowledge they could with their people. Dendle understood the once proud and independent people were changing.
Dendle wasn't wanted or liked by either race. Other than his little crew, Captain Murdle, and a few of the guards at the foothill outposts, he didn't think anybody liked him. Few understood he was half-human more than he was half-gothican. And now, with the power of the ring, he decided he liked it that way. The blue gem set in the band resembled a cat's eye, and because of it, he was more of a hunter than the lethal gothicans had ever been. The only thing he really shared with either race was his hatred for vermin and his love of killing them.
On this hunt, he was after prey that was worthy of his skill. He checked his things one last time. Satisfied he was ready, he left the trail they had been on, going straight through the forest toward the higher, untamed wilderness of the Dragon Teeth Mountains.
It wasn't long until the way grew steep and rocky. He had to angle his climb on a northerly course that paralleled the mountain peak, but he gradually headed up and east. It took him the whole of the day to gain the top of the first ridgeline, and he decided to camp there where he had a visual advantage of being higher than most everything around him.
Throughout the course of the day, he sensed at least two dozen kobls and one larger form that he figured to be a bear. He could've bagged half of the little buggers or more with little effort, and at one point was tempted to. Realizing he was tempted only by their value in gold is what dissuaded him.
He figured he wasn't doing this for the gold anymore, though it made his decision that much easier. He was doing it for the thrill. He was doing it for the rush of freedom and the challenge of taking a creature that was his equal or better. The days of killing kobls being exciting had long past. The idea of hunting them now was akin to hunting sheep in a pen.
He made no fire and sat in the darkness, slowly chewing dried beef while absorbing the rich fullness of the early autumn night. The chill in the air somehow solidified the open sky into a thing full of substance. Instead of seeing it as an empty space full of twinkling lights, he saw it as a whole. The space between the stars was alive with possibilities, and he wondered what was up there that couldn't be seen.
As he thought about these things, he drifted off into thoughts of soaring into the darkness like an owl, or maybe a bat. Soon, the big moon brought its bright, yellow glow above the mountains and illuminated the valley that lay unexplored below him. He used the light of the moon, along with his eyesight, to scan the area for any sign of prey, but he saw none.
At some point, he must have fallen asleep for the sound of distant falling rocks that woke him came just before sunrise. Quickly, he pinpointed the cause of the noise and was pleased to see two large forms moving slowly southward on the far side of the valley. They were just above the tree line on a rocky slope.
He figured he could intercept their path by late afternoon, and he wasn't in a rush. Being there were two of them, it would take the element of surprise to even the odds. They also had the advantage of being in their element. He hoped a poisoned arrow in one of them would leave him with only one to fight face to face. He knew he could put an arrow into each of them and be done with it, but he didn't think that would satisfy his growing battle lust. He wondered if they carried clubs, or any weapon at all. Their huge arms and jagged clawed hands were weapon enough. These were twice Dendle's size, and he found himself hoping it would be a fierce battle.
He studied what he could of the distant forms and gathered up his things. It was hard pulling his eyes away from them long enough to study the terrain of the route he would have to take to cut them off. Already, the blood in his veins sizzled with anticipation, and he decided to spend the morning moving at a brisk pace. After he was in position, he would take a few moments to rest. Along with his senses, his endurance was enhanced by the ring. With footing as sure as any mountain goat, and graceful movements of body comparable only to a mountain cat, Dendle carried his massive body swiftly and silently down the rocky slope and into the trees below.
He was fleet like a deer. While he ducked branches and leapt over obstacles without a thought, he felt himself being guided by the magic coming from the band on his finger.
Cat's eye.
Sleek, surefooted, and silent, he found himself moving more and more like a feline with every passing moment. For quite some time he was lost to himself. Dendle the kobl hunter faded from the world and some wild predator took over. He became one with the environment, and it wasn't until some instinctual thing warned him that something was near that he came back to himself and used his senses to pinpoint what and where it might be.
There was a band of wood trolls not far north of his current position. They were also traveling south, but their path wouldn't cross his until long after he was gone, so he decided to let them be. If the rock trolls somehow eluded him, he could always return and pick up their scent later. He decided he might just come track them for the experience if he could take the rock trolls before full dark. The way he felt, he was confident he could kill them all, though it would be nearly impossible to manage getting all their heads back over the ridge.
Captain Murdle had told him about a cabin for sale that was high enough in the mountains that humans wouldn't bother him there, and the heads of two rock and six wood trolls was enough to buy it. From there, he could hunt at his leisure day or night, and he wouldn't have to worry about people ever again.
These hopeful thoughts slipped away as he continued through the woods. His mind was again filled with the consuming instinct and senses of the ring's magic. With each breath, and each step, civilized thoughts faded only to be replaced by the predatorial feline power that took over his being.
When he finally reached the place he spotted that morning, the place he decided to be his ambush point, he realized it was only midday. He had crossed the valley and made it halfway up the other side in about half the time he estimated it would take. He wasn't even winded from the trek, but he was hungry. He sat and ate more dried beef and began to study the area more intently, taking in every stone, every tree, and every rise or dip of the ground. This is where he was soon to battle a creature twice his size. A rock troll was larger than a full-blooded gothican and said to be just as fierce, if not more. He would have to battle two of them if he missed with his bow shot. The poison he had was fast acting, but that was on kobls. A rock troll might be too large for one arrow to kill so he planned on getting at least two arrows into one of them before he faced off with the other. His blood coursed, and he felt wild and alive. The ring's magic crackled through him, and he savored it.
He made a wide circle around the area, taking in all he could. A fallen tree there, a pile of loose stones here, a route of escape if he was outmatched and forced to flee. He absorbed all of these things into his subconscious and decided, if he couldn't find a way to defeat his prey, it wouldn't be for a lack of preparation.
As evening approached, he felt the rock trolls lumbering across the slope just above the tree line, and he climbed higher up the slope, making his way toward them to pick a place to take his initial shots with the bow.
It wasn't long until he found it, a spot where he could keep his body behind a jagged chunk of protruding granite and use it as a brace to steady his aim. He was so excited he trembled. If he had fur, it would no doubt be rippled up along his spine, and the sensation was almost so intense he felt as if he did have his hackles raised.
He could hear them now, noisily approaching, unaware and unconcerned with the commotion of their passage. One of the benefits of being a higher mountain predator, as they were, was they didn't have to worry about sneaking around. Even so, both of them stayed within a pace or two of the edge of the forest.
For a moment, Dendle wondered why it was they were considered filth. They lived and hunted in the mountains just like the wolves, bears, and cougars. They even hun
ted the kobls just like he did, only he didn't eat them.
Maybe that was it?
They ate anything, like scavengers, and few carrion would eat their flesh. He decided that was the difference. They were vermin because they fed off anything, living or dead. The thought made his stomach roil.
He found himself longing for fresh meat. Maybe he would kill a deer after he killed the rock trolls and feast on it to celebrate, but he had to kill the trolls first. Now that he could see them closing the distance, he tuned out everything else and focused on his prey.
They made their way clumsily across the scree, in and around the larger clumps of fallen rock that lined the forest's edge. The smaller one, he decided, would be the one that he took with the poison. The other was easily a head taller and would get a fighting chance to survive. Neither of them carried weapons, but they could both throw boulders that would break bones if they found their mark, and the larger one's reach was something Dendle decided he should be wary of. If it managed to sink its claws into his flesh, he was done. The battle wouldn't matter. Even a small gash would become infected by whatever filth collected under those sharp jagged nails.
As soon as they came into range, he took his time and loosed the first arrow. It sank deep into the smaller troll's grayish colored flesh at the thigh. The second arrow hit just below the ribs in its side.
The creature howled and crumpled over at the waist, feeling for the cause of its sudden pain. This caused the larger troll to let out a series of low, rumbling barks as it went into a defensive crouch.
Dendle left his protected area and bolted toward the area he'd chosen for battle. Both trolls saw him and charged after him, but after only a few long strides, the smaller one collapsed into the rocks and lay still. The larger one didn't seem to notice, only one thing was on its mind when it scrambled into the clearing where the cause of its anger stood prone and waiting.
Taerak's Void (Fantastica Book 1) Page 18
