The boys took them while nodding, made funny faces for a moment. That could have been confusion, but it was most likely embarrassment. "Thanks!" they shouted together before turning and running off toward the caravan.
So, Rufer's widow was finally giving up her search for the killer of her dead pig of a husband. It was a shame the wife had to suffer because of the actions of her husband, but she had not been completely blameless in her choice of who she married. Tehra was already feeling forlorn from saying goodbye to Wynoa, and the guilt was impossible to dodge now, with the lady sitting just down the road. She seemed to be simply waiting with her head half tilted down, not moving or talking to anyone. It was easy to imagine what she might have been thinking about - the life she had of riches and luxury in the city, finding out her husband had been brutally killed, and possibly even learning of his acts of unfaithfulness at the same instant. Tehra would have been completely heartless to have been able to ignore all that when staring at the true victim here with her own eyes.
However, a life of her own hardships had taught Tehra to be cold and distant when it was necessary. Accordingly, she closed her mind and heart to the widow and started making arrangements to finally return to the city of Aklago, her home where she belonged. It had been one year, and in that time she was grateful to have happened upon the white witch, Wyona, and been able to uncover her natural elven ability to detect magic. It might never prove useful, but at least her time hiding in the Fayborrough had not been completely wasted.
14
Apart from the kind old white witch in the woods, Tehra felt no loss of love at having to leave her recent home as she told her landlord her room was no longer required.
"You only had two nights left before I would've thrown your boney elf ass out into the thoroughfare anyway," said the landlord. He was perhaps in his forties and had made no effort to hide his distaste for the 'pointy-eared' foreigner.
On this point, Tehra couldn't fault him too much; the gruff, underweight landlord didn't much care for anyone, seemingly. He had spent almost all his free time standing outside the side entrance to the single-story dormitory where he rented rooms for a living. He never had a kind word to say to, and especially not about, anyone. Everyone seemed to piss him off just as much as any other person.
The bald man would smoke a pipe full of tobacco, and sometimes other pungent herbs he procured from the white witch who he colorfully referred to as, "That old whore of the dark gods," from one side of his mouth, while asking for her help in curing in many and increasing ailments from the other side.
"You hate everyone," Tehra replied. "That's not my problem though, and you're not going to make it my problem. If I still had two nights left, it's only fair you give me back the money for those nights."
"No refunds," he replied. His name was Wallace, something or other. Tehra had never bothered to learn if there was a last name attached to the first.
"Don't you think folks around here know what you're doing in our town? You're hiding out from someone. And the way you were standing back, looking really suspect like, waiting for them to leave... I'll bet it had something to do with one of them wagons that just came through. Maybe I could do some asking around and find out if someone's willing to pay for some information?" The bald asshole looked happy for the first time in the year that Tehra had been there.
Edging closer to him, it was obvious that she had maybe half a foot's height on him. And she wasn't a particularly tall elf woman, as far as she knew. "Now, do you really think it's a good idea to threaten someone who you think might be a wanted criminal?" She adjusted her belt and placed slender fingers around the hilt of that trusty knife, which had already grown a taste for the warm blood of man.
"Do you mean to rob me right here, in the middle of the day? You're crazy, you ugly elf hag."
"Hag? Ugly? I suppose you always make a point to 'accidentally' burst into the rooms of all the ugly hags who board at your establishment while you think they're changing their clothes?"
Shifting around on worn boots, he looked away and turned red. "I was looking to see if you needed anything."
Tehra laughed dryly. "Like what? You don't offer any services. Just this wood rotted shit box you call a decent place to rent. You know what, keep the fucking two night's worth of coin. She turned and walked away, feeling righteous at having told the miserable bastard off.
Even without any steed to carry her, the young elf didn't feel the weight of the world on her head, nor her shoulders. And her feet seemed light and easy to move forward, onward toward her destination. That might have been elation at having stood up for herself again the insufferable landlord, as well as for Wynoa, the kindly old white witch who only aimed to help the people of that shit hole of a village who didn't deserve to have such a knowledgeable healer right at their doorstep. She would only help them live longer in order to be even more ignorant, after all.
It was a pleasant enough walk toward Aklago, even though it would be late afternoon by the time she would arrive. On the way, she saw a broken down wagon on the side of the road. Looking around carefully for a few minutes, she decided that there wasn't anyone waiting off the side of the road to jump her. There weren't many places to hide anyway, apart from some kind of tall grass and the ditches in between the road and where the grassy fields started to either side.
Coming closer to the wagon, Tehra was sure it had been there for some time. It was like the skeleton of an animal that had been sitting in an alleyway for days, after being picked clean by rats and polished further by insects. There was no sign of any goods, but that wasn't unusual. Bandits weren't known to leave anything of value behind. There was no sign anyone had ever been here, not even torn clothes or a lost boot. Whatever had gone on here, had occurred many days ago.
There was even fuzzy moss starting to grow on parts of the simple, open back wagon. It was the kind of thing that would only take two animals to pull. Maybe even one larger animal, depending on how much the back was loaded with goods. It was a farmer's tool for taking crops, tools, bags of feed and the like from one local place to another. It probably didn't even have anything of value on it when it was attacked.
Tehra came up close and crouched down to look at the strange growing moss. It wasn't plant life, but mold that was taking hold where the wood had been splintered and the internal matter of the wooden planks had been exposed to the elements for some time. It was rotting away. "Shit," she uttered, shuffling back a bit to see that the sickly colored mold was actually forming on what looked like claw marks, or teeth, only they were a lot bigger than any she'd ever seen.
"What kind of creature could do this?" she said out loud, losing herself to fantastical wonderings of giant monsters that she knew to be real. Those things never came into this land though, at least not in this region. That was the stuff of faraway tales of traveling adventurers, not something a common farmer going in between the local towns here would have to even concern himself with.
Standing up now, Tehra felt a cold shiver run up her back, stopping around her neck and the base of the back of her head and at last creating a tingling sensation of being ungrounded and floating without anything to keep her safe. The world around her was suddenly very real, oppressive in the way it never stopped being everything that she would know and could experience.
She felt like someone, or more likely something, was observing her from a hidden location.
There was something foreboding about the scene. It reminded her of the way those mercenaries had been slaughtered by the very rock beneath the hills itself. Going back to the city would mean being just across the river from that horrible place. It compelled her to stay away and pretend like nothing had ever happened there, to act like it really was relegated only to the dreams she continued to have each night. Her elven logic would not let her just push it away like that, and sure enough, she felt drawn to go back there and find out more about this wizard.
Dark magic, dark energy, murder and mayhem. It was al
l the stuff of chaotic energy. The white witch had said so, many times. It went against the natural order of things, the neutral forces of the universe. One way or another, balance would find a way. The wizard, skull, magical core creation - whatever that really was - had nothing to do with nature, nor the lawful way of things. That left only one remaining side for his magical abilities to be at. Evil. She was sure of it now.
15
Mertho had laid essentially dormant for an untold time. While the world around him moved as usual, as far as he knew, time within that glowing skull atop its altar seemed to remain both at a standstill and flowing as fast as a raging torrent. He maintained the low-level magical draw that was required to call monsters to his dungeon, but that was the extent of his activity. Unlike during his mortal life, he was effectively useless without a good supply of magical energy.
This had not seemed like it would be an issue at first, not until he had been given a taste of what having that energy was like. Invigorating, nearly nourishing? Yes. Sadly evanescent in passing? Also yes.
Something came to the entrance of his cave, moving shortly after the sun had set. Vibrations came through the ground and even penetrated the rock, but they would have been most likely undetected by the average human. What are you? questioned the wizard when it was close enough for him to reach out and ask.
Grunting and breathing heavily was the only offer of a reply.
Do you understand? asked Mertho.
Again, there were only the sounds of a large beast of some kind, but they were different. "Yhess," said something large, antediluvian, and not of the human world. "Found, dark magshick." The way it spoke was about as eloquent as a dim child.
Good. Do you want to live here with me? I will provide protection, as well as conjuring food for you as you need it. And you will have the chance to kill bad men if they come here.
It seemed very happy about that, breathing heavily like a massive hound. "Yesh! Kill, eat. No conjoor needed."
The beast was not coming inside the entrance of the cave, which gave the worrying impression that it was not as stupid as it sounded. Yet, its mind was pliant enough for it to travel there without knowing exactly what it was thinking, or what was drawing it there. Why do you follow dark magic? asked Mertho. He had to know more about it, and was not sure if he should allow it into his dungeon at all. Worry was both a wizard's best friend and their worst enemy.
"Me not think, not well. You, plans, orders. Me kill, eat," it replied plainly. That kind of self-awareness was rare in even some of the greatest minds in the land, and certainly hard to find in the average human.
Very well then! If you wish to follow my orders, and you wish to kill anyone who intrudes in my dungeon without my permission—enter.
"Yesh," it said one last time. The moment the soles of two giant feel were laid upon the tunnel floor, it was apparent what type of monster had been drawn there.
An ogre, uttered Mertho.
"Yesh," it said. The improper formation of its words was not in the slightest bit endearing, and only a fool would have mistaken the inability to form more than more basic sentences as childlike naivety. The wreak of death was apparent about its massive form the moment it was close enough to properly sense. It stood too tall to walk through the tunnel without hunching right down and bending a great deal at the knees.
You are a big one, aren't you? Do you have a name?
"Thark," it responded with pride. "Life Killer."
Thark the Life Killer. That is well suited to you. Where did you come from?
"Old cemetery over hills, far away by swamp." It was apparent that the creature was smirking as it continued, "Many ripe dead men, women and children too." The ogre smacked its lips, and the sound of building salivation was present in its deep voice.
Wait where you are. I must tell you; there are traps throughout my dungeon, horrible traps. He could tell the ogre started to grin at the mention of them. This was not something entirely new to the beast, and it was generally agreed that ogres could live possibly as long as elves, or more. Thark could have been the denizen of a dungeon. You must wait for me to still the traps before you enter. They are a part of my magic, and I control them. Do you understand?
It grunted an affirmation.
Excellent. Now, I will alter my traps, so they do not harm you, so you can come and go as you will. There is an underground pool in one of the chambers. Will this be suited to your living habitat?
The ogre groaned again but didn't seem happy.
You don't need water to survive?
"Yesh, water. No understand rest."
Oh. Do you want to live in the room with the water pool?
It grunted another affirmation. All this talking was apparently starting to take its toll on the beast's mental stamina, as well as its propensity for withholding its frustrated tendencies. The smell of death seemed to clear up as the beast went to the pool, where there were plant life and water to help absorb the smell. The first thing it did was go to sleep.
With some time to think about this new happening, Mertho found that he could use the ogre as a type of conduit, to channel magical energy and pick up what it was sensing. That was entirely nothing while it slept, but it was sure to be useful to be able to expand his vision outside of the dungeon and cave entrance.
Satisfied that he had excellent defenses against even well-armed and trained adventuring groups now, Mertho could let his mind wander and allow the passing of time to yet again become a mystery. In this way, he was sure that a magical core such as himself could pass through endless ages without feeling isolated or even bored.
16
The ogre seemed to be content just sleeping and catching small animals that dwelled within the cave. It drank huge amounts of water every now and then, and then went for days without needing to slake its thirst again.
Something nagged at Mertho’s conscience, and it had a lot to do with the ogre. A righteous man would have done anything in his power to slay such an evil creature. Yet, here it was, calling the dungeon its home.
Mertho willed himself to kill the thing—it would be easy enough with all the traps about. But being left without the ogre to help protect him was a frightening thought. He could not let himself be destroyed by some fool hearty adventurers. It was for the greater good that Mertho should continue to live, after all, right? Many men chose undesirable allies in the name of worthwhile goals.
Having the beastly humanoid in the cave also helped to stem the uncertain flow of time, making things more mundane in the process—more real. Mertho could not decide how he felt about that. Often, he wondered if it would be better to simply seal himself away and dive headlong into the dark depths of agelessness that were sure to come for him. The dealings of the mortal world were so dreary, tedious in the back of his mind. Yet, he still felt as a mortal, as Mertho the wizard. It wasn't his time to give up on mastering the arts of magic, or he would surely shame his ancestors at giving up such a generous gift, as he had been granted.
A gift... of dark magic... of imprisonment.
There was another sound outside of the cave entrance, but this time it was something much smaller. No, several things that were much smaller. They didn't hesitate to come closer, as it was daytime and they seemed to know where they were going. There are humans here, he told the ogre.
It just groaned with self-satisfied affirmation, this not being news to it. "Smelled them for long time now. Waiting to eat, I am." The way it spoke, it seemed to be getting used to making actual words with intelligible meaning, rather than just roaring and grunted among the corpses back at the old cemetery that had been its haunt. Perhaps it was far less stupid than Mertho had at first thought.
I hope you're hungry. There are many of them. He did not know how much an ogre ate in one go. No one had any firm knowledge of how they lived. Anyone who had encountered one of these beasts either ran, hid, killed it, or was killed themselves, brutally and with much blood and gore.
Mertho sensed
the group of men come up to the cave entrance and then huddle about outside, talking about what they would do next and checking their arms. Some of them had swords and spears, but the majority only had wooden axes or pitchforks. This was not a group of mercenaries or guards - they were simple peasants who fancied themselves monster killers.
One of them had a thick, red beard and the scars of battle, but he was nearly old enough to retire. "Smithy says he saw this thing too, and I'm telling you I know this trail is where it went. Can't you smell that? It's the horrid rot from a monster that eats the flesh of men, and the flesh of the dead."
"Honest to the good gods, Hamish is right, I saw a monster. It was cast in shadow from the setting sun, but had something unholy about it. Like a deformed man, but bigger than ten men put together. It walked up this way from the swamp, out where the old cemetery is, where my parents are, gods rest their souls."
"You mean where your parents used to be," added one of the others, a man clutching a humble woodsman’s ax like it was the only thing keeping him from floating off into the sky.
Smithy stopped and thought. "You mean you think it might've done away with them?"
"Like my parents, yours are already done away with," said the red-bearded man who, by the sounds of things, was this group's leader. "And I do think this thing could've eaten any one of our departed loved ones who rest out in the poor folk's cemetery. That's something I won't stand for."
"Well, why's it come here now?"
"Who knows what something as evil, and stupid, as this troll thinks? Its brain is probably the size of your cock," the red-bearded man said with a laugh. The joke made the whole group smile and chuckle, temporarily easing their worry.
Mertho could hear the ogre, rustling about and pacing near the entrance to his lair. "I smell ten. Ten fresh corpses for the Life Killer." The ogre kept mumbling to himself with a deadpan glee that would have caused shivers to shoot up Mertho's spine, if he had one.
The Wizard (Dungeon Core Book 1) Page 8
