“I hear all kinds of stories, ballads make the best songs after all.” Lygi says, running his fingers through his hair. “I heard one about the four of you, fighting off a crowd of Sigurdians. Apparently, you’re quite the warrior,” he says pointing to me.
“Why do you wear a sword, musician?” Fenrir asks grimly.
“I carry it for protection,” Lygi says as he leans closer, “nobody robs a guy with a sword.”
“Unless you’re wearing a silk shirt!” I laugh. Both Fenrir and Lygi chuckle loudly too.
“Have you two been bounty hunters for a long time?” Lygi asks while strumming a tune on his lute.
“We’ve both been doing this for a while,” Fenrir answer as he distracts himself from Lygi’s song to empty the last of the ale between our mugs.
“I’m sure you have been in many a battle, those wounds themselves tell a grand story. I would ask you to let me join you on your adventure…” Lygi says.
“No, you can't fight so you can’t join us,” Fenrir interrupts him.
“As I was saying, I would ask to join your adventure, but I have business of my own I must attend to.” Lygi continues as a smile flees his face. “Tonight though, I'm just a bard.” I down the last of my mug, amused by this jester.
“Which way is your group heading anyway?” Lygi asks as he looks away.
“Nowhere. We’re stuck in this shithole.”
“Ah yes, Captain Takna has vetoed you from leaving I hear,” Lygi says. “Word of the wise man, the fence is usually unguarded for a while around midnight.”
“What are you suggesting we do?” says Fenrir quietly.
“I’m just a friend of adventure. Do nothing, do anything. It’s up to you.” Lygi stands, a withering expression claims his face as he looks down. “By the way he was lying, he can’t brand you as outlaws without having committed a crime.” Lygi leaves, on his way to an Inn I would think, and the rain grows more powerful again.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s kill that damn swine tonight!”
“Your wounds need to heal, wait until the blacksmith is done with your armour at least,” Fenrir pleads. “We’ll need Ein and Ivar.”
“If we kill Takna, we don't need the bounty. Why wait for them at all?” I ask.
“They’ve held our backs, we can’t turn on them like this,” Fenrir says fixed on me.
“They will turn on us eventually,” I tell him with cynical truth.
“I need their help,” Fenrir says. He looks around the tavern, observing his surroundings.
“With what?” I ask as his focus shifts back to me.
“I found a scroll, it’s like a map to a great treasure trove. I’ll need to get to Sigurd, and then Haldor, but that’s not all of it.”
“You want to share that treasure with two strangers?”
“It’s a Warlock’s map,” he answers with a serious tone.
“Warlocks aren’t real.”
“I killed one to get the scroll. Ulfmaer, they’re real and so’s this treasure.”
Fenrir lays on his side, still slumbering. My breath grows heavy, laced with the thickened air, as the sun demands another day. He’s gained a strain of madness over the years, he believed the tales he spoke last night to be true. Only splinters remain of the time before we were taken to the estate, I wonder if he remembers at all. I’ll find a smith alone, something simple settle the air between us. After silently gathering my few armor pieces, I part from the stagnant room, leaving Fenrir to rest. The day’s business will be mine alone.
Soldiers stare me down like vultures, as I move through the streets, searching for an armourer. The town is clean of broken glass and ash, unlike most of the towns now, it even seems civil. A sign hangs in the breeze above a stone building overlooked a muddy courtyard. Varied sizes and styles of amour lean against the walls of the forge. I glace at my arm, the new drakine shimmers in the sun. Flecks of drakine fill the bite on my arm, almost glowing a dark red.
“Smithy, can you forge armor?” I bark to the soot covered man hunched over an anvil.
“I can.” The smithy keeps working the metal without paying much attention to me.
“Do you have drakine here?”
“A little?” he asks as he reveals a young face. “That’s a nice axe,” he remarks after studying my metal.
“I need a simple gauntlet made of it. Like this one,” I say gesturing to a rough guard behind the smithy.
“Made of drakine? You don’t look like you could afford it.”
“You’ll have it done by nightfall. Only then you’ll get your coin”
“If you can give away that much coin, then yes,” he says smugly, “I can make it.” I unstring my coin pouch from my belt and empty it onto his benches.
I find myself caught within the town square, and within a bustling market. The merchants stand in groups and lines, waving down the farmers that wonder through the courtyard.
A guard rushes past we, “stop, thief!” A small boy darts between the peasants halfway into the marketplace. I move forward, looking for a meal. Some men offer spiced fruit, others honey milk or cattle. Some dried, salted meat presents itself before me.
“Peddler, how much is this meat?”
“This here meat was only prepared this morn, it’s five al’ a piece.”
“I’ll have two pieces, if you can do them for three al’?”
“Four al’, my best price.”
“Ok, seven al’ for the pair.”
A smile creeps into the old man’s face, “ok, just for you!”
The day slips away as I examine the town, and now the sky glows orange as I return to the smith. The young man is covered in sweat, like he’d just run from the other side of town. He scrubs the dragon plated guard with a wire brush as I approach.
“You’re almost done I hope.”
“Soon. I just need more time.”
“Will it be done tonight?”
“Go to the tavern and have a few drinks. Come by after that and we’ll be able to finish our business.”
“Practice haste smithy.” I say as I begin to make my way back toward the tavern, where Fenrir surely waits.
“Drink well warrior.”
Wax drips from the candle top, with barley any candle left to burn the flame dances and flutters.
“I waited the day you asked.” I say to Fenrir, breaking his absent expression. “The moon is high, it’s time we find that Captain.”
“What of your arm?” he asks.
“The smith should have finished work by now. I’m gonna kill that bastard, even if you won’t help me.”
“Have you ever done anything like this before? There’s no telling how many men are in that camp,” Fenrir worries.
“They won’t even know we were there,” I say standing from the table, and moving into the cold night air. I take a deep breath then stretch out, testing my wounds. Fenrir passes me an uneasy look as he appears at my side.
“This way brother.”
We walk the path beside the marketplace, that had lead me to the smithy’s store. The open forge casts out a great glow to the smaller courtyard. The anvil is vacant and fires quiet.
“Ulfmaer, something is wrong,” Fenrir warns. Boots clap against the dirt path, as though it is an approaching heard. A group of soldiers, almost a dozen trained swordsmen, march toward us.
The smithy emerges from the front of the group, “Ulfmaer!” The familiar voice yells. “I should have known it was you.” Takna appears from the group as well.
“You rat!” I shout at the smithy. I swing Morovig free.
“Your head will earn me a good share of coins.”
“I just wanted you to make sure he paid. You can’t kill my customers,” the smith argues.
“It doesn’t matter what you want boy, we need the coins on this guy’s head. Kill them both,” the Captain shouts with a wolfish expression on his face.
“I’ll end you before the night is through!” I roar. Fenrir readies himself
to fight, following as I stride toward the first soldiers.
“Stay close,” Fenrir shouts from my back.
I charge into the men as they’re funnelled toward us. I knock men from their feet and swing Morovig about like a madman. I stomp a solders neck after he falls to my feet. A path opens to the Captain and I charge through it. Only a few solders move between me and Takna, who retreats backward. A soldier charges me from the side, his sword waving in the air, I slam my arm into his stomach and he rolls over my shoulder. Letting Morovig drop into him, I drag her through his ribs as I power forward.
“Now, do it!” The desperate Captain yells. I throw the last guard aside downward and slam into the Captain. A grunt of pain leaks from the Captain as he crashes backward into a wooden fence. Morovig lifts above him as he tries to crawl backward. A sharp pains rips into my chest, tearing apart flesh. Another pair of arrows already rest against the strings. I turn sideways trying to hide behind my arm as another two arrows shoot past me. A noose catches my neck, from somewhere behind me, and I’m yanked from my feet. I grasp at the rope trying to pull myself out of this snare as I’m dragged backward. The rope tightens, crushing my neck, and I’m hoisted up. Heave by heave I see the ground fall below me. I clutch at my throat, trying to pull myself free, trying to save myself. Fenrir is still fighting off the soldiers. His shoulder is hacked open and he screams in pain. He looks up at me as he holds his wound. My eyes flutter and roll back. A young Fenrir appears, as he had once, as a child. In a flash, we play as we used to. In that empty field, Fenrir smiles to me.
The earth below crashes into my chest. The air floods back into the lungs. I jump to my feet and head-but the nearest swordsmen, stealing his weapon as he falls backward. With it in my right hand, I slash at any of the soldiers near me. The world is still a blur. Where had I dropped my axe. My sword hits a shield and Ein stands beside me beside me.
I lift the soldier, grabbing hold of his arm before he can strike me, and slash into his guts like a woodsman cutting down a tree. I swing the new body into another soldier, and lunge for my axe. Her weight feels like strength in my hands. Ein’s spear shoots through the soldier before me and I carve a hole through the last. Beside the bodies of the two archers stands the lone Captain. Moonlight shines faintly off his armour.
“Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. No archers left to protect you,” I hiss as his eyes dart around behind me. I take a step closer.
“Killing me will let the Sigurdians straight through to the capital.” I move the axe so that it’s ready to strike as he tries to plea for his life. “Only a fool would be stupid enough to kill me! I’ll die a hero.” Morovig drives into his stomach and lower ribs. Takna spits blood onto me.
“You die as all men do, scared and alone.” I whisper into his ear before yanking my axe from his guts. The Captain holds his stomach as he stumbles back, clasping into a building.
Chapter 4: Foreign Demons
~Vesall~
A table leans, battered and overturned, against the back wall. Like a slaughter house, the scent of blood wafts about the stale air. Splinters of wood, ripped from the furniture, crack and crumble below my boots. A mural decorates the wall beside me, looking as though it was painted by children. Two mattresses of straw lay parallel at opposing edges of the room. My hair stands on end. This was the children’s bedroom. Lingering trembles creep through my body. Once an area bursting with life and joy, it sickens me to imagine what had transpired here. Nothing resembling a man could have brought himself to do this.
Written in clues of havoc and blood, this scene describes how this all came to be. A beast struck from the window. Glass fragments infest the floor, it had been shattered from the outside. I see slivers of shredded fabric, resting upon blood-stained soil, as I move closer. It dragged the child through the window and devoured it here, likely while it was still alive. Marks akin to bear tracks lap the wooden building. The window itself must have been too small to climb through, so the beast circled the cottage, searching for its entrance. I run my fingers through the crevices that litter the wooden walls, made as though it was no harder than wet clay, as I return to the main room. Once inside, the farmers stood no chance against the creature. If Jormungand had come here for aid, he was either among the victims or fled before the beast struck. With nothing more to learn inside, I make my way through the empty doorway, past the crippled, bent brackets that once held a sturdy door.
Waves of grey clouds roll over each other, like water at the seaside, and a never-ending drizzle has overcome the area. These tracks, stomped into the soaked, beaten grass, are like no bear I have ever come across. When I had arrived here, the townsfolk murmured of a monster in their woods, an ancient scourge of life. Each print has fewer toes and a paw that is too thick. My ears prick up as I focus. On closer inspection, I realise I’ve seen this print before, holding up a beast called leviathan. The ancient tale floats into my head from days’ past. Once, a very long time ago, the Dragons and Griffins were not the only mystical beasts, an old voice almost whispers the words into my ear. A creature called leviathan flew with them, until Vithar, the great dark wolf, curse the beasts with a hunger that could never be quenched. Their honour would slowly corrode. Leviathan became a scourge on the world, overwhelming man and beast and creatures of magic alike. Vithar’s brother, Valtamr, would defeat the beasts before they could consume the world. The once noble leviathans retreated into the shadows of night, with a newfound thirst for death.
This trail constantly merges and blends with other animal prints. Appearing again two fields distance away, it almost seems the beast is hiding its path. The quiver of arrows reclines into my lower back and my worn bow rests over my shoulder. Thin pillars of wood hold up the canopy around me, breathing with the wind. Leaves and dust float about, falling and rising in the gentle breeze. The undergrowth around me gradually disperses, as I stalk forward, and a wide lake appears before me. Sunlight shimmers from the water with not a ripple nor a wave disturbing the calm face of the lake, the glare blinding my view for a moment. Resting for an instant, I shield my eyes and loose the knot holding my water-skin. I spy prints along the banks, left by a heavy creature with three claws per foot, the beast I have been tracking. As I sip the tepid water, I wonder to myself. Why has beast had given up trying to hide its trail.
At last my tracking is proven accurate, as I fall further into the woodland. Hidden between the dense foliage, I find a narrow tunnel. Despite descending sharply, an acceptable path is formed by slabs of rock. Almost like jagged steps. There is probably a set of caverns below me. I cast my eyes around the vicinity. Shredded and bleeding, bare tree flesh has been ripped open from the sturdy pillars. This is the creatures lair. Sap weeps from the trees, golden blood. My determination and courage waver. Killing this creature, feels like the errand of a madmen. I slam two drakine stones together, letting the sparks fall onto my oil soaked torch, setting it alight. I will surely need it while I venture into the cave shrouded by a fog of darkness. I form a mental image of the beast, a reptilian creature with shiny black scales, razor sharp teeth.
I’m sung an elegy as I drop from the trees and wildlife into a murky prison, holding away all the evil things that haunt the night. Every step is a caution, testing each rock with my weight, in hopes of making it to the cavern floor without a broken leg. As my feet leave the last slab and press against the rocky floor, darkness stretches out before me, like a beast waking from slumber. My touch light wages war with the pure darkness, I can almost hear it shrieking in pain. I swing my bow free, catching it in my spare hand, and begin to trespassing through the cavern. The shadows around me creep and dance, hiding and watching me in an unnerving way. I find another tunnel leading further into the more caves. With my torch placed on the ground, I set an arrow alight. The flaming oil coated arrow sits nocked on my bowstring and I aim it into the hole. No winds interfere with its flight and it illuminates the tunnel for a brief second. Stone and dirt are all that lie before me in every direction.
This pit feels wrong, my ears prick as every hint of noise rattles my psyche. Where does the monster wait?
Water drips somewhere, echoing around the stone room. Quiet screeching rumbles though the tunnel. It grows gradually louder and I stare into the darkness trying to sight its cause. A swarm of bats comes bursting through like an eruption of dancing black monsters. They vanish from the cave as quickly as they had appeared. Vulnerable and isolated, I regather my torch with haste and proceed down. One foot placed ahead of the next, step by step I push forward, crunching over patches of dirt.
I shiver, like prey, as a sound stops my movement. Like mice scampering at midnight, I hear scratching along the stone wall ahead of me. Nothing can be distinguished shadow. I release the torch and nock an arrow, leaving the bow resting at my hip. Something passes over the rest and I loose two arrows at it in rapid succession, leaping into the wall behind me. I hear the arrows crack against stone, then rattle as they fall to the floor. A rock tumbled down into the light. I sigh and my hearts pounds, thumping hard enough to burst through my chest. My quiver is two arrows less now. I peel myself from the wall to regather the torch.
A loud screech penetrates my ears, bursting through my head like a hammer. This tormented screeching sends an icy chill running along my spine, a frog grows in my throat. My ears ring and my head thumps, even as the noise fades. I could not distinguish its origin and can only assume the creature still lies in wait further into the caverns. Only horrors await me, I know it. Should I dare push my luck further, deeper into these passageways that radiate evil? I kneel, placing my bow in the dirt at my side. I run my hand inside my collar and hold my locket, remembering why I had come.
The same scent from the cottage wafts about theses cavern, blood and death. Squelching and tearing whispers gruesome truths to me. This shredding sound; I'm hearing something being eaten. Trying to hide myself, I throw my torch and stamp out the flames. Squatting low, I listen for the beast. The cave has become silent.
The Warlock's Fortune: Act One Page 6
