Ballorn stared into space as he tried to recollect his thoughts, then it dawned on him, “You, you slimy git, YOU DRUGGED ME!” he exclaimed.
Hunter squirmed, “Well, yes I did, but it was only to help you cope with the pain,” he said quickly. “Don’t you remember? You were in agony.”
“So what! You don’t give a person…” His voice tailed off. “Whose house is this? I don’t recognise it.” He gave Hunter a piercing glance, “Did you get permission to bring me in here? I don’t want to be in debt to one of those sanctimonious village dwellers! They’ll be expecting me to do work for ‘em for free for the rest of my life!”
Hunter lowered his head, “That’s not going to be an issue,” he said quietly. “You see, there was nobody here to seek permission from.”
“Oh, that’s alright then!” exclaimed Ballorn. “There was nobody to ask, so I’m guilty of trespassing as well!”
“That’s not what I meant, Ballorn,” sighed Hunter. “Whoever the owner was, is probably dead.”
“What!” exclaimed Ballorn. “What do you mean, the owner’s dead?”
“Look up, Ballorn. There’s no roof on the building. There are no roofs on any of the buildings, the ones that are still standing, that is.”
Ballorn glanced up, “Hunter…” he asked slowly, “… what happened here?”
“It seems we were too late,” whispered Hunter. “It also seems that the dragons we thought were a distant memory are, in fact, real. There was a trail of devastation leading straight to Krevick, Ballorn. The dragons reached here a long time before we did… and it looks as if everyone was killed.”
Ballorn’s mouth was agape, “Surely… surely some must have escaped?”
Hunter shook his head, “I’m not sure,” he replied. “Perhaps, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope. If any did, they knew there was no safety to be had amongst the carnage here. I lost count of the dead I cleared from the streets.”
“Were there that many?”
Hunter nodded, “I’m afraid so, my friend.” He held up his hand, “Oh, I forgot, my turn to apologise. We aren’t friends, are we?”
“Take no notice of what I said. I’m a bad-tempered sod at the best of times. We can be friends if you’re happy to have me as one.”
Hunter glanced sideways at him, “We’ll see.”
Ballorn rubbed his leg, “I need to stand,” he groaned. “Let’s have a walk about, see what we can find. I’d like to see if there’s anything left of my forge.”
Hunter helped him to his feet. Leaving the ramshackle building they headed to the forge. Hunter hadn’t paid it much attention as he had cleared the dead from the streets. From a distance the damage didn’t look that bad. The buckskin canopy was slightly singed, but other than that, it seemed to be in perfect working order. Ballorn stared in disbelief, but then noticed something strange. His tools were strewn about the floor and he looked to his tool chest expecting to see it destroyed. Strangely enough, it was perfectly fine, sitting against the back wall where it had always been. He limped forward, eager to investigate the mystery. Leaning down, he grasped the iron handle and began slowly lifting the lid. To his surprise the handle was suddenly torn from his fingers and the lid slammed shut. Ballorn frowned. “What the…?” he muttered.
Hunter had witnessed the strange event and now stood directly behind the blacksmith holding his knife.
Ballorn shrugged his shoulders as Hunter nodded toward the chest. Leaning down, he once more began to raise the lid. Again, it was ripped from his grasp and slammed shut. Third time lucky, thought the blacksmith as he gripped the handle.
“No,” came the voice from inside as the lid closed again. The voice gave no hint of alarm or fear, but there was an adamant tone to it. Whoever was inside was determined that they were not going to allow anyone to disturb them.
Ballorn wiped his hand across his face, “Oh, no,” he moaned. “Please no, not him. Anyone but him.”
Hunter smiled, “Friend of yours?”
Ballorn rolled his eyes and tapped the chest with the toe of his boot. “You can come out, it’s safe,” he sighed.
“No thank you, I’m fine. Go on about your business. Just pretend I’m not even here. Do it quickly though, I don’t want you to draw any attention.”
“Attention?” asked Hunter. “Attention from who? We’re the only ones here!”
“Just go away!” came the exasperated voice. “Here…” it said as the chest lid opened by an inch, “… take this. That’s more than a fair rent for such a small space. Now please take it and leave me in peace!” Two gold coins were shoved through the gap, jingling as they hit the floor.
“I don’t want your money!” exclaimed Ballorn. “I just want you out of there!”
With no reply, two more coins were pushed through and landed with the others.
“Oh, I’ve had enough of this,” growled Ballorn as he grabbed one end of the chest and began to lift it. “Out!” he demanded as he shook it.
The lid flew open and a small, tubby nemilar rolled out onto the floor. He was about to protest but then saw Hunter, who stood brandishing his knife. Although unnerved, he still seemed more concerned about what else might be watching them. “Quick, hide!” he urged. “It could be lurking anywhere.”
“We’ve been here for days,” Hunter informed him. “I can assure you, there is nothing lurking anywhere!”
“Ah, see. That’s what it wants you to think and then it’ll pounce.” The nemilar suddenly noticed his surroundings, “Oh, my word!” he sighed. “It’s gone! The whole village has been destroyed.” A horrified look swept across his face, “M m m my shop, my beautiful shop,” he stammered.
“Beautiful!” exclaimed Ballorn. “You haven’t spent a penny on it for years! It was the most dilapidated building in the whole village! Who knows the last time it had so much as a lick of fresh paint!”
“How dare you, sir. My establishment is one of the most respectable businesses in Krevick. There is not a tailor in the whole village who can produce garments as fine as mine.”
“True,” admitted Ballorn. “Then again,” he added as he glared at the tailor, “that’s because there are no other tailors in Krevick. Come to think of it, the nearest to you is fifty miles away.”
“Let’s not start making this personal, Ballorn,” suggested Hunter. “We may have to rely on one another before long.”
“Suppose so,” grunted Ballorn, staring at the tailor. “This is Hunter. Hunter, this is Twitch the Stitch.”
The tailor gave Ballorn a scathing look as he turned to face Hunter. “Actually, it’s Portwitch… Felidan Portwitch,” he announced. “Pleased to meet you, sir. May I enquire as to your given name?”
“Hunter’s just fine,” he laughed. “Would you mind answering a few questions? Such as why you were hiding inside a tool chest?”
A look of dread came upon the tailor’s face, “I couldn’t see,” he replied staring into thin air with a distant look. “The fire, the smoke, the screaming. The monster, you see, it was huge, wrapped up in some kind of unnatural storm. We had no warning before it descended on the village. Fires erupted around it as it trampled everything in its path, lightning bolts and howling winds following its every step. I panicked and ran the same as everyone else, but I fell as I tried to get away and found myself hidden behind low walls. These walls to be precise, the ones around Ballorn’s forge. I was in a right kerfuffle and wasn’t thinking straight so I clambered inside the chest, still expecting to be crushed or burnt alive at any moment. Then everything suddenly went quiet. I’ll admit, I was too terrified to come out. I’m a tailor not a warrior, what was I supposed to do against a dragon? I’m a bit of a coward to be honest, so that’s where I’ve been hiding ever since, until you found me, of course.”
“Did any of the villagers escape?” asked Hunter, placing his hand on the tailor’s shoulder, sympathetically. “Did you see anything before concealing yourself?”
“The monster… the way it moved,
” whispered Felidan. “It was strange. It never rampaged through the village, it took its time as if it were revelling in the mayhem and panic. It never gave chase to anyone who fled into the trees. At least, I don’t think it followed them.”
“So there’s a good chance there were survivors,” said Ballorn. “That’s a relief.”
“How many lived here?” asked Hunter, slowly.
“Over five hundred now,” replied Ballorn. “Lots of young ones born recently.”
“Six hundred and seventeen,” sighed Felidan. “I know the village clerk. He keeps records of all the villagers.”
“Why?” asked Ballorn, knowing that Hunter would not have asked the question without good reason.
“Whilst you were asleep,” began Hunter, “I removed the bodies of the villagers from the streets.” He lowered his head. “I lost count, to be honest. But I’d say there were at least three hundred.”
CHAPTER 5
The days that followed were difficult for the three nemilar. Stitch was a nervous wreck and quivered at the slightest noise that came from outside the village. Ballorn was angry and had fired up his forge, despite Stitch’s pleas. The smaller nemilar begged him not to run the risk of drawing any unwanted attention toward the village. However, it was neither the flames from his forge nor even his hammering with which they should have been concerned.
The smell of death hung in the air, a subtle scent that went unnoticed by the nemilar. The sensitive noses of the scavengers and predators that dwelled in the woods, however, were a different matter… and it was not long before they ventured closer to investigate.
Hunter coped easily with driving off the smaller ones with his flaming arrows. The larger ones unfortunately were far bolder and would soon follow. Packs of wolves skirted the treeline, venturing closer as they realised that the flames would not harm them if they kept their distance. They too were driven away at first, startled by the roaring figure of Ballorn throwing rocks and anything else he could lay his hands on.
The immediate threat dealt with, he returned to his forge and flicked the lid of his tool chest open. “You can come out now,” he grunted at the shaking Stitch. “They’ve gone.”
“They’ll be back,” called Hunter.
“I know,” Ballorn replied quietly. “We’ll deal with it when it happens.”
Hunter was intrigued. He knew that Ballorn was in no mood for conversation, but he simply had to know. “Why are you at your forge, Ballorn?” he asked. “What are you making?”
“Can’t go anywhere on a busted leg,” he replied gruffly. “Making a brace for it, so I can travel.”
“Travel?” enquired Hunter. “Travel to where?”
“Lonny’s farm,” grunted the blacksmith.
“Lonny’s farm? Why do you want to go back there? You said all that was left of the place was rubble.”
“I lost something and I want it back.”
Hunter watched as Ballorn bent and shaped the iron bar on his anvil for a minute before thrusting it back into the fire. “It looks sturdy enough,” he said.
“Wouldn’t be any good as a brace if it wasn’t.”
“How will you fasten it to your leg?” asked Hunter with a faint laugh, “You can’t exactly nail it in place.”
Ballorn was in no mood for humour and gave Hunter a look that conveyed his lack of amusement. “I’ve got some rope, I’ll just tie it in place.”
“You can’t do that,” said Stitch, quietly. “It’ll take the skin off your leg before you’ve gone a mile!” He thought for a moment, “If one of you could go to my shop, there’s a few scraps of hide in the back room, presuming they survived the fires of course, the shop didn’t look in a good state the last time I saw it. I could make some strapping to hold that brace to your leg as if it were a part of it.”
Hunter shook his head, “What are we talking about!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Whether it be rope or straps, you can’t head into the wilds in your condition. It would be far too dangerous!”
Ballorn slammed his hammer down and turned to face him, “Firstly, I didn’t ask your permission, and secondly, how are you going to stop me?” he growled.
Hunter shrugged his shoulders, “I have no intention of trying to stop you, Ballorn,” he replied. “It’s your life to risk if that’s your intent. I’m simply warning you of the perils that may await you.”
Ballorn pointed at the remains of the village, “And what have I got to lose?” he asked, his hands shaking in anger. “Whatever did this took my life away as much as it did the nemilar who lie in those buildings. Why should I fear death when everyone I knew has already gone before me!”
Hunter sighed as Ballorn resumed his hammering, “My apologies, Ballorn. You are correct, of course. You must have had a deep affection for many who lived here.”
Ballorn paused as he glanced at Hunter, “Affection?” he asked with a surprised look. “I couldn’t bloody stand them, not a single one! But that doesn’t give anyone or anything the right to slaughter them.”
Hunter shook his head in disbelief. He turned to Stitch, “I’ll see if I can find those scraps of hide for you,” he said. “But, you’ll need to show me where your shop is.”
Stitch shook his head vigorously, “No, I’m staying here with him,” he said adamantly, nodding toward Ballorn. “There could be anything hidden around a corner waiting to grab me as I pass.”
Hunter smiled, “So it’s alright for you to risk my life, but not your own?” he asked, quite amused by the terrified tailor.
“You’re a hunter, Hunter,” replied Stitch. Realising how silly it sounded, he paused, then continued regardless, “You have a bow, a knife and a… whatever that thing is strapped to your thigh,” he added, waggling his finger at the scimitar at Hunter’s side.
“Well I’ll lend you them all if it makes you feel safer,” Hunter laughed.
“No, I won’t need them,” smiled Stitch. “As I said, I’m staying here.”
Hunter reached forward and grabbed the back of the tailor’s collar. “No, you’re not, come on,” he laughed, as he hoisted Stitch to his feet. “See you shortly, Ballorn.”
Ballorn grunted, paying little attention to Hunter, which was a shame. The sight of Stitch trying to wrestle free from Hunter’s grip as he was unceremoniously marched away was most amusing. He continued with his work, glancing occasionally at the twitching bushes at the edge of the forest. Whatever was there, would not stay hidden for ever.
Hunter and Stitch were not gone long. As they returned, Stitch scampered ahead and crouched down near to Ballorn. Logically, the forge would have afforded him no more protection than anywhere else in the village, but he was a creature of habit and seemed content as he sighed loudly and wiped his brow with a small handkerchief.
“Find what you were looking for?” asked Ballorn.
“I did,” replied Stitch, “and a few other things besides.”
“I still don’t get it,” smiled Hunter. “What was wrong with the coat you had on?”
“Nothing,” replied Stitch. “But this one has always been my favourite,” he grinned, stroking the lapel of his pristine garment.
“Well, I hope it’s warm,” mumbled Ballorn. “Chances are it won’t stay like that for long. It gets cold out in the forest once the sun sets and everything gets dusty or muddy, however hard you try to keep it clean.”
“Well that’s something I won’t have to worry about,” Stitch sniffed. “You won’t catch me out in the forest at night. You won’t catch me out there during the day either, come to think of it.”
Ballorn stared at him for a while, “Fair enough,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “You can stay here by yourself then. We’ll only be gone a couple of days, you should be alright ‘til we get back.”
“What!” exclaimed Stitch. “You can’t leave me here by myself! You’ve seen the wolves and things, they’ll come into the village and…” he gulped, “… eat me!”
“I’m sure they won’t,” laughed Hu
nter. “Wolves are very particular about what they eat. Stay inside the chest though, just to be on the safe side.”
Stitch glared at him, “I’m glad you think it’s funny,” he snapped. “Don’t you think enough nemilar have died? Now you want to abandon me so that I can be added to the list!”
“Oh shut yer face, Stitch!” sighed Ballorn. “Nobody’s leaving you behind! You’re coming with us, whether you like it or not.”
Stitch pouted and began searching the shoulder bag he had returned with. He pulled out the pieces of hide that he had retrieved from his shop. Then he withdrew a large pair of tailoring shears, a ball of twine and a pack of thick needles. “Show me the brace,” he grumbled. He studied its shape for a moment, lowered his head, and set to work.
Hunter watched Ballorn and Stitch as they each worked on their individual parts of the brace. He felt a little awkward. He was unused to his hands being idle as others toiled. “I’m going to have a scout around,” he announced. “We’ll need more food for our journey. I’ll see if there’s any game to be had just inside the forest.”
Ballorn looked up, his eyes showing concern. “Be careful,” he said, slowly.
Hunter nodded, “Always am,” he smiled as he jogged off toward the trees.
He could still hear the clanging of Ballorn’s hammer as he entered the forest. Whatever had been lurking there must have been spooked by his approach. Warily, he entered the shade of the trees. It was unusually quiet and he was surprised that he could hear his own footsteps, not something that would aid him if his hunt were to be successful. Slowing his pace, he listened carefully to the forest sounds. Birds were singing in the distance, but nothing nearby was stirring.
“Ain’t got any cake have you?”
Hunter raised his bow, his head snapping from side to side as he searched for the owner of the voice.
“You can put that down,” said the voice calmly. “I ain’t got no weapons or nothing.” Hunter looked up. Above him, clutching a branch, sat a scruffy-looking nemilar. “I’s been up here for days and I is starving hungry,” he added, forcing a weak smile. “Anything you might have spare’ll do. I ain’t fussy.” He began to rifle through his pockets, “Here, look, I’ll pay you for it.”
Mark of The Nibrilsiem: Set before The Ascension of Karrak (The Karrak Trilogy Book 4) Page 4
