The Messengers Menagerie (The Courier Chronicles Book 1)

by Joey Anderle

  The Worg lunged at him, and he shut his eyes, holding his sword out and somehow managing to push the monster away.

  “Open your eyes lad!” The voice advised, “It’s hard to hit something you can’t see.”

  He accidentally locked eyes with the Worg, its menacing yellow eyes peered back into his. Sending Booker reeling internally.

  Dodge, dodge, dodge, Sterling attempted to command, watching as the monster set himself to pounce again.

  Roll dammit! Sterling felt the sensation of pushing against the tide. Trying to force himself out of the beast’s path he saw in slow motion the wolf opening his jaws and pushing off with his back feet.

  Do you not know self-preservation? Sterling scolded, and suddenly the resistance was lifted. Sending both Sterling and the body tumbling.

  “That was a good dodge,” The watcher admitted, “But you can’t do that forever.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” The voice and mind answered in unison.

  They heard a short whistle, and the sound of an impact as something hit the dirt.

  Sterling and the elf looked down to see an arrow had suddenly appeared, “You’re on my team!” the elf called back.

  “I’m your teacher,” The Instructor in the tree informed, “I’m on whichever team helps improve you.”

  Ranquel and Sterling rolled out of the way as one, just in time to watch another arrow impale itself in the tree behind where they just stood.

  “Still think you can dodge forever?” His master taunted.

  A bead of sweat fell from his face as he looked at the Worg, doing his best not to back down. When the monster launched himself again, the two rolled out the way, this time flailing his sword at the Worg as they narrowly escaped.

  The beast yipped and snarled as the blade cut through his side, now even more pissed at the Elf.

  “There you go!” The teacher commended.

  They felt a surge of success rush through their being and readied themselves again. The Worg tried pouncing once more, and the two did the same maneuver, this time their sword was a bit steadier.

  When the blade pierced the beast's pelt, they heard another yip but forgot to keep a solid grip once they hit the concrete that must’ve made up that monster’s bones. Ripping the sword from his hand and sending it twirling with the wolf.

  “Oh no,” They realized.

  The monster knew he now had home advantage, stalking around the bloody weapon and waiting.

  “What now?” They called up.

  Another arrow magically appeared in the dirt, surrounded by a little cloud of the dust that it kicked up.

  “Right,” The elf answered, shrugging and moving his arms as he retrieved the bow off his back, “Slight problem. I am the worst in my class with the bow.”

  I can help! Booker answered from the inside, helping guide the hands to the correct spots. Drawing the string back to his cheek, aiming and letting go. Sending the missile flying into the woods, they aimed too high. Whoops.

  The Worg tensed again, willing to risk another leap against a reloading novice.

  They tried quickly to notched another arrow against the bow and aimed, staring at the beast’s yellow eyes down the shaft of his arrow. Silence hung in the air as the wolf circled the battleground, seconds felt like hours.

  Ranquel began to feel the physical strain of aiming his bow. Booker was flooded with the waves of emotion inside the elf’s head, the anxiety, fear, rush of battle, and pride as he looked death in the eye.

  Their enemy made the first move attacking ferociously. The two kept their eyes open as they let go of the bowstring again, firing into the beast's open mouth. The two found themselves flattened onto the ground by the giant body of the wolf.

  Am I… are we still alive? Booker thought as his sight became black. He felt sensations return to his being. That’s good, legs and arms are healthy, Booker acknowledges as Ranquel pushed the beast off, crawling away as boots hit the ground nearby.

  “Good shot, a bit risky.” The Ranger from the tree’s observed.

  “Thank you Master Tanyan,” Ranquel said.

  “I’ll give you this,” Tanyan offered a hand, which they took. “You’ll be a legendary Ranger Ranquel; I can promise you that. We’ll get Drakvar to forge you your weapons. You’ve done well today boy.” The master Ranger tussled his hair, “Conquered your fear; soon you can take on anything.”

  Sterling’s state of conscience began to sway, the world around him spun until it was all a single color, Here we go again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Delvar looked vehemently at the boy in front of him; fists clenched as he gestured for Sterling, “Well he isn’t here, is he?” The dwarfs entire body contributed to him pointing at where Ranquel’s statue once stood.

  “And what the hell am I supposed to do about that?” Sterling asked, a tear drop slid down his cheek as he did his best to keep his voice steady, “I am a Runner, I get things from A to B, I am not a fighter, I am not a leader, and I’m certainly NOT A RAN- “

  Then the strangest thing happened, Booker slapped himself, hard. With the sword, still in his hand. Sterling stumbled to his left, running into Mordecai who helped ground him.

  Delvar and Mordecai looked at each other quizzically as Sterling straightened himself up, twisting his head left and right making loud pop noises.

  Sterling looked around, he was wild-eyed and a touch cautious, slowly regaining control of his ragged breathing.

  “You alright?” Delvar questioned.

  “I’ve been trapped in a statue for a long, long time,” Sterling answered, “So I’m doing alright now.”

  Sterling started to flex his limbs, doing light warm-ups that Delvar wouldn’t have thought Sterling would know.

  “Hold on one second,” Mordecai frowned, “Booker doesn’t speak Elvish.”

  “Oh, you can talk.” Sterling looked up to the troll as he started to buckle the sword to his waist, “Please, just Ranquel.” He delivered with a grin.

  Delvar squinted scrupulously, “Why wouldn’t he be able to speak?”

  “He’s a uhm,” Ranquel looked between the two awkwardly.

  “Troll,” Mordecai finished for him, “There have been some changes since you went to sleep.

  Delvar was now more confused at his partner willingness to accept the change in personality.

  Ranquel clapped Mordecai’s rather large arm, “Well as long as you’re on my team, I am more than willing to call you friend.” He looked about and spotted Auralee, sleeping in the corner. “Who’s she?”

  “Our Magi,” Delvar answered him.

  Ranquel squinted and tilted his head, “A woman?” Ranquel questioned as he walked to where his bow and quiver hung on the display stand.

  “A lot of change,” Mordecai clarified.

  “Where’s Sterling, if you’re in his body?” Delvar inquired, watching the Runner deftly clip the quiver to his side and gripping the dark curved weapon.

  “Here, I'd bet,” Ranquel exposed his arm and rattled his archer's wrist guard. “When he broke the statue, instead of taking the form of what would no doubt be a fragile thousand years old me, I found out your leader for whatever reason had a relic of mine, so I slipped into his conscious to try to guide him to success from the inside.”

  “So instead you took over his body?” Delvar accused.

  “Well,” Ranquel dipped his head, “When I realized the situation at hand, I decided it would be best if your leader had a breather. His internal constitution was all but gone, so I traded conscious’ with him. I’m not sure what he is doing, he hasn’t tried to say anything.”

  “And your plan now is to what?” Mordecai inquired.

  “I believe an old friend of mine has shown up, no doubt Izimandius is running out of tricks to keep his attention," Ranquel pushed up his sleeve and practiced swinging his arms, before remarking at the bodies condition, “He could use some training, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “You’re just goi
ng to go out there,” Delvar squinted, “And fight the giant wolf?”

  “Worg,” Ranquel corrected, “A nasty one too, no doubt someone with influence sent him.”

  “And fight it?” Delver repeated.

  “As opposed to what? Talk to it?” Ranquel questioned, nearing the door, “You two care to help or are the weapons just for show?”

  Delvar shrugged, reaching back and unclasping his battle-axe, “You’re the leader,” He suggested.

  “Safety over damage,” Ranquel emphasized, looking out the door, “I would rather drag your beaten body than your bloody corpse.”

  __

  When his vision returned, Booker was still in a forest, but this time he felt, older. He knew he was back in Ranquel’s body but wasn’t sure why they were approaching the edge of the forest.

  Ranquel began to slow down once they got close to a clearing, walking against the brush.

  Why are we slowing down? Booker questioned, then a sharp schwing sound permeated the air, Why are we drawing out the sword? Booker asked.

  When they stepped into the clearing Booker saw what Ranquel was anticipating.

  They’re like eleven green skinned slightly morphed Jean-Claude Van Damme’s, Booker thought when he saw the orcs, I wonder if they can do the kick.

  “I heard you were looking for me,” Ranquel called out to the meandering orcs, Booker didn’t recognize the language yet he understood what everyone was saying.

  “Elf thinks he is smart since he can speak Orc tongue too?” One of the verdant Jean-Claude Van Damme’s asked.

  “Actually?” Ranquel practiced a swing of his sword, “Yes.” He answered.

  The bravado sent a handful of the orcs roaring and charging at Ranquel.

  Dodge, Booker suggested as the orcs began to close in, Really soon.

  The first orc to reach Ranquel was easily evaded, the Ranger stuck a leg out and sent him stumbling into the dirt. The following stupid paid too much attention to his friend to see the sword being stabbed into his open mouth. The last two decided to team up and attack as a pair. Circling the Ranger.

  “Little help?” Ranquel questioned looking at the last six orcs for aid.

  The request confused the orcs as they looked amongst each other for the traitor.

  Ranquel sighed, drawing an imaginary bow and aiming it at one the centermost orc. When he released his fake bow, an arrow suddenly seemed to sprout out of his chest. Ranquel repeated this a few more time to similar effect, appearing to make real arrows with no bow.

  This is so awesome, Booker watched.

  The final two roared at Ranquel and charged. The elf Ranger decided to duck and roll away. From ten feet away Ranquel poised his sword at the ready, making sure their attention was on him he lunged to pierce the air causing one of the orc’s chest to burst open with a case of the-sword-through-the-body. His surviving buddy dropped his weapon and bolted into the forest, not bothering to look back.

  Ranquel rose onto his tiptoes to make sure the foe was gone, then motioning with his hand that it was safe.

  “Good show everyone,” He congratulated, “Sorgel, great timing with that stab, couldn’t have done better.”

  Sorgel pushed the orc’s corpse off his shining sword, “That’ll haunt him for a while.” Sorgel chuckled.

  Ranquel chuckled and pointed to the two archers leaping out the tree, “And I can’t thank you two enough, your accuracy was a real-life saver.”

  “I would just like to point out,” the one Ranquel’s thoughts called Nhym hoisted his bow, “I’m the one that took out the fifth one.”

  “Yeah right,” the other archer, Varian, punched him in the shoulder, “You were too busy bitchin’ about Ranquel’s form when he was shootin’ his fake bow.”

  Ranquel gave an inquisitive look toward Nhym as they stepped close, Nhym grinned under his hood.

  The accuser shrugged, “You would’ve been lucky to hit a castle wall with that form, was all I was saying.”

  Ranquel chuckled, “Maybe so, but that’s why I have the twins,” With a charismatic grin he looked at Sorgel, lowering his voice “And we all know which one is doing the heavy lifting.”

  “Me,” The twins clarified simultaneously.

  All four of them laughed again, and it made Booker smile watching it, this is just like my team… oh.

  “Now,” Ranquel slid his weapon back into its sheath, “Let us let that orc tell his friends about the Legendary Ranquel and his impossible feats, give them something to fear should they step into our forests.”

  “Hey,” Sorgel wondered, “Why can’t they fear Sorgel the Savage?”

  “Simply put Sorgel,” The Ranger looked at his friend, “I’m the better looking one.”

  The jab caused the other swordsmen to break into a smile, and they all began to walk away from the clearing.

  “By the way,” Varian leaned in close, “Rumor has it that the Headmaster Tanyan has something for you, everyone thinks it's a dragon.”

  Except for this time, Bookers conscious didn’t follow along like it normally would. Instead, he was left standing amongst the bodies of the orcs that team had just destroyed with ease, together.

  “Dodge!” Ranquel reminded as the contrasting black wolf stomped hits paw against the laminated white floor.

  Five of the Ranger’s seven arrows stuck out of the Worg’s already bristling body, several slash marks showed that the team was at least trying to fight the beast, but progress was slow.

  “Me axe is going to get dull before it falls,” Delvar quipped.

  Mordecai called out from the other side of the Worg, “Its tendons may as well be rubber, impervious to steel.”

  “So, after consideration,” Ranquel was interrupted by a snap of the beast's jaws, taking the opportunity to sink his blade into the beast, “A sorcerer,” He yanked his sword out to avoid losing it, “May also be behind this.” The Ranger finished.

  “Really,” Delvar hoisted his axe up in anticipation, “I thought they all came in size extra-large!”

  Izimandius came back around, continuously doing fly by’s and spitting orange flames, taunting the monster with how close he flew, always managing to escape by ricocheting off surfaces and twirling away.

  When Booker returned to his body, he immediately realized he wasn’t in control of his nimble limbs.

  Not again, Booker groaned inside his head as his vision was clouded by the underbelly of the giant wolf.

  “Your friend is back,” Ranquel shouted to Delvar, watching the dwarf cleave his axe into the Worg’s front right leg.

  The beast yipped and instinctively tried to take a chunk out of the dwarf. Delvar left his axe inside the beast and dove out of the way of the first strike, scrambling to get away as the monster launched into a second attack.

  Ranquel kicked off from his bent, almost kneeling, position. As if he was runner getting ready to race off the block. Gaining a short three step build up to power slide, arcing his sword and cleaving into the side of the Worg’s lower jaw, causing just enough force to push the jaw off its intended course