My eyes adjust at a slugs pace, while trying to listen. Shadows begin to take shape as I draw an arrow from my quiver. A soft breeze runs through my hair. A breeze, in a cave. Epiphany. I dive aside, releasing three arrows. I climb back to my feet and fly past the rocks, trying to gain some distance from the monster. The cave resonates its horrifying cry and rhythmic drumming of claws against stone, I’m being chased.
I stumble into a thin crack residing within a wall of stone. My body can barely fit inside as I try to evade the creature. Silence. A few paces away noises appear, scratching and a few quick puffs of air, sniffing. My breaths become shorter and sharper, the beast will surely hear it. This stone is my coffin. Voices echo through the cave, the voices of men. The sniffing and scratching vanishes quickly, leaving to chase the shouting.
Faintly rolling through the cavern, the echoes of shouting continue. Only shadows wait outside my prison but I fear the beast can easily camouflage into the darkness. Stepping out from the hiding place, I draw my bow, in one swift movement. As if in stasis, I remain motionless, watching the shadows. I feel the danger has not yet passed though the creature is no longer in this cavern. With another arrow resting on my bowstring, I wade back through the dirt.
A quiet thud catches my attention as I pull myself from the depths, my ears prick. I glance to the tunnel wall, my bow following my sight. The voices slowly grow louder, and I wonder what Manning folk would be foolhardy enough to hunt a leviathan. Another quiet thud, higher into the tunnel though. Unsuspicious of the noise, I look up without aiming my bow. Again, only dark stones greet me. Drips begin to fall from the ceiling beside the path I walk, the lake was not nearby. The light shines from a set of jagged points poking from the ceiling. The set of rocks is dripping, dripping water? A drip splashes into my face and the aroma is clear, its blood. A quiet hiss falls from the mouth extending out from a shadow that is a neck. I drop to the floor and the teeth snap shut only a hair from me. I roll sideways and stumble up to my feet. A slight glow calls me from the first cavern. I need to retreat.
My breath only fans the fire that burns throughout my lungs. The leviathan is surely pursuing me, ready to indulge its hunger again. The tunnel around me widens and bloats, I have reached the first cavern. I can see the exit. A great force slams down on my shoulders, crumpling my legs below me. I bounce from the rocky floor and tumble to my back. The leviathan quickly perches itself over me. Like a huge snake with legs, it lungs at me again. The jaw of jagged spikes is only stopped by my bow, jamming between its rows of teeth. The creature struggles for a moment, then whips the bow away. As this monster looms over me, it's tiny black eyes peer into mine, cutting voids in my courage. Black blood sprays, the leviathan screeches and claws dig into my thigh as it charges over me. Light brightens the cavern. Men approach.
A sour breath enters my lungs and my skull throbs. Like an imprint left by a stone fist, my forehead is painful to the touch, bruised and cut. I’m still in a cave, the same cave, my back presses against a boulder. Where is my bow? How long had I remained unconscious? With a tint of blue and a degree of blur, I can almost detail the cavern around me. Thick thorny plants droop from the high ceiling of this dense, stone cell. Pain cripples me, slicing through my leg, while I push myself up with weak arms. A cloth bandage is tied around the deep gash in my leg, already thick with blood. I cannot remain here, as injured prey in this pit. With a limp in my step, I pull myself toward the narrow passage that had been the last place I held my bow. With something akin to clairvoyance, I find my red-wood bow still holding together, and resting at my feet. Shouting rings through the tunnel beside me, frantic panicked shouting, as I hold the bow in front of me again. Had those men chased the leviathan into the lower caverns?
Four bodies huddle together, repelling shadows that flutter around them, like a black vulture circling a fresh carcass. The leviathan, perfectly blending into the darkness. A black limb fades in and out of the glow occasionally. The beast lives in the night, the light must blind it. Nine arrows are waiting in my quiver, ready to fly at my command. My extinguished torch reveals itself in the dirt an arm’s reach away. I have the tools to kill this monster.
The torch flares into a blaze beside me, waving heat into my arm.
“Light blinds the creature!” The light reveals the leviathan between the passage exit, at which I stand, and the group of men. The creature lingers in the lights edge for a moment, screeching and hissing like a startled cat. Reptilian and ferocious, the beast raises its head and unleashes a distorted roar that resonates through the darkness. The largest of the group rocks back and forth with a large, two-handed axe in his hands, forgoing a torch.
“We can’t fight something we can’t bloody see!” he growls as he turns to another of the group. A dry cold radiates through me that I had not felt before, like the hunger of a famine. In the corner of my eye, movement. The walls shift and change, seeping down toward us. Darkness rolls down the walls like rain on a window. My confusion breaks, like the eye of a storm, as I realise there are hundreds of leviathan crawling from the cavern walls.
“Leave now, lest this cave be your tomb!”
“There on the walls!” a shout rings from the men.
“Forget the coins, we’re leavin’!” The leviathan trickle down from the walls and flooding the rocky cavern floor. Fenrir passes me, leading the others as they race to escape this cursed place. The torch falls from my hand and I aim between the other three approaching me. I let one of my last arrows fly. I’m sure I hit a beast behind the men, although I hear no screech, no howl or hint of pain and suddenly these creatures no longer seem like something that can be fought, like an all-consuming flood. I flee. If Fruulo watches, the light of my abandoned torch may be enough to halt their pursuit and we may yet ascend this hell.
My leg rips more with every step. Fenrir seems further away every moment. Noise rumbles from the caverns behind us, a thousand rhythmic beats of claws against the stone. The light has not stopped them.
“Light!” a voice shouts between heavy breaths. My body hits the stone slab at full speed, scampering recklessly from boulder to boulder. Screeching and wailing ring from below as others climb past me. I claw my way through the rays of light. Leaping closer to the last slab of stone, I’m blind to the outside. An arm grabs hold of me and drag me free. I stumble over the last rocky step, and fall into dirt, panting like a dog after a fight. The cave falls silent.
“What in hell was that?” barks the man with one arm as he slides his sword back into its place. In the fleeting moment his sword is sliding into its sheath, I gather it is of great craftsmanship. The spearman clad in armour starts coughing, and spits out chuck of half-digested food.
“You drink too much ale, and they were leviathan, probably the last of their kind.”
“The hell is a leviathan!?” the burly axeman asks, wiping away sweat from his brow. Above us the clouds grow more colourful, and the sun is resting lower in the sky.
“Darkness will set in soon. I know the way back to town, let’s not linger,” I say while hanging my bow over my shoulders again.
“Wait, why were you down there?” demands Fenrir as he approaches me, a Sigurdian inscription coating his blade. Though not the largest of the group, I would surely be cut down at this distance.
“Am I mistaken in assuming your group fought off the beast and wrapped this cloth around my leg?” I ask in return, judging him carefully, “I'm in your debt.”
“I’m Fenrir and these are my companions, who are you?” he stops me again.
“Vesall.” I nod and turn one again to the south-east, toward the safety of town.
Darkness taunts me further as time passes, consuming the sky and barely holding back the hoard of leviathan, haunting the corners of my thoughts. Like the embrace of a lover, the walls hold us with warmth and relief. Beside the two large wooden doors, forming the entrance, sits a stool and atop it, a muse. Along the back wall stands the bar maid’s cabinet and bench, behind it, the doorway
leading to the kitchen. Twelve tables endure the isolation tonight, in silence, surrounded by rudimentary wooden chairs. Peasants flow into the broad room as the ale begins to flow from the bottomless barrels. The farmers form packs around the furniture, like flies.
A figure floats through the doors, cloaked by fur and leather, and quickly sits at a table with two others. Their voices are no more than a whisper, they refrain from ordering any ale and hide away at the edge of the common room. I focus my observation further; the shrouded figure conjures a scroll from his wraps and passes it to the others. For the instant it remains between hands, I catch a glimpse of its wax seal, Azfay’s crow. Only Sigurdian spies use the crow, the invasion must be advancing rapidly.
“Vesall?” asks Fenrir.
“Yes.” I return my attention to him. My bow leans at my side as I rest warily opposite the mercenary. He sits forward leaning on the dusty old table, intent on a conversation I had been neglecting.
“So, your escaping the war. Why travel with us?” Fenrir asks me again.
“We don’t want a coward, who runs from battle!” adds Ivar, his voice edgy rough.
“But you do want a cripple?”
“I could end you archer!” Ivar roars as he stands, knocking his chair away, and slams his arm onto the table. His drink splashes out onto the table edge. A dark animal lurks in his eyes.
“Don’t hurt yourself, boy.” I press my cheek down, trying to hide a smirk, and casting my gaze away from the black pins that are his eyes.
“I would cut you down, before your arrow ever left its quiver,” Ivar says with a dead voice, while drawing his chair to the table again.
“Calm down Ivar!” Eindride barks. Eyes around the room have shifted to us now, craving some entertainment.
“When was the last time you changed those bandages?” I ask without turning back. I suppose Jormungand did survive the initial assault, barely. Oh, how the mighty can fall. Now Ivar is returning to the Capital, escorted by these mercenaries.
“Shut up you bitches,” Ulfmaer snarls, like his word is law, between mouthfuls of ale. He raises an arm, it’s wounded, but coated in drakine. Where had he obtained the armor of rich men.
“Where you’re from don’t matter, only if you’re worth having beside us in battle,” Fenrir declares, examining me as best as he can.
“I would wager none of you have much practice in medicine. I’m not a bad tracker either.” The ragtag group of infantry isn’t versed in much other than combat. I pass my gaze over Ivar again, now that he has sit back down. He carries himself with such a weight, as if he is of great importance.
Fenrir sits forward again, intrigued by my words, “You’re a healer?”
“I’ve some experience treating injuries, yes.” Fenrir turns away, pondering my words.
“You’re not a hunter then. Why were you down in those caverns?” Eindride asks gathering himself from the other side of the table.
“I just wanted to see if the rumours were true.”
A chair grates against the wooden floor, armour rustles and Eindride stands.
“I need a good night’s rest after fighting those things. The finer details can be decided on the road. In the morning,” he says, motioning to the door, his mug long since empty. I stand and gather my bow and quiver. “You’re coming too?” he asks.
“I’m heading toward an Inn,” I say quickly.
Fenrir watches, “we will be leaving early tomorrow morning.”
“You want me to stay at the same Inn as you?”
“If you plan to travel with us,” he answers, after another swig of ale. Fenrir sways slightly in his chair.
“The suns barely set.” Ulfmaer says with his deep rumbling voice, finally bothering to acknowledge me. “You wimps,” he spits, “women drink later into the night, while you run for the covers.” I’d be a fool to indulge his thirst for combat, yet if he proves persistent, I could be forced to make sure he travels no further. The labyrinth of tables ends and I step outside, my boots crunching as they hold steadfast atop the dirt path used as a road here. The light of the fires reach out to the edge of the bare dirt and the tree line waits patiently just out of sight.
“It’s this way,” Eindride says passing onto the street.
The darkness I had left a moment ago shatters and light fills the sky once again. My room has not changed, my bow and quiver eagerly await me at the beds end. I open the decrepit wooden door to find myself in the Inn’s common room. The common room is little more than a wide hallway with doors to numerous basic rooms and a few stools littered about the walls. The caretaker sweep the far side with a straw broom and a stray cat floats about.
“I was just about to wake you,” Fenrir says emerging from outsides light. “Let’s go to the tavern then, the guys are waiting.”
Eindride sits leaning against the tavern wall, Ivar stands facing him, beside Ulfmaer who’s red armour glimmers as the sunlight bounces forth. I see Eindride hand Ulfmaer the pale green bottle he had been drinking from, Ivar turns around as he notices us. A cloud’s shadow glides over us, dulling the shine of the red metal.
“Ready to go Fenrir?” Eindride asks, as he stands.
“Of course,” he responds. “What of you Vesall, do you still want to travel with us?” Fenrir says as he turns his attention away from his companions.
I cast a quick glance to Ivar, who rests his hand on his sword hilt, before answering, “Yes, I will follow along and help where I can, I owe you a great deal.”
“We’ll see about that. Let’s get out of here,” Fenrir says as gestures for us to follow him into the road. Everybody else leaves the tavern’s wall. Ivar still stands where he was, hand still resting upon the sword.
“An old archer could get hurt on these roads, if he isn’t careful,” Ivar says before pushing past me.
“Keep your sword close, Ivar.”
The road is wide and flat, we will soon reach the main trade route to the Capital. Dark clouds threaten us with their rumbles, a grey tone has overcome the world and a strong breeze throws dust into our faces. Thick old trees spread out in a spare forest either side of the road, rejuvenated by the recent rain. We continue marching down to road to the tune for Fenrir’s whistling. In the distance, almost further than can be seen, two blurs appear. Not a man had passed us since we left early this morning. Sluggishly, we tread onward, making our way toward Nortka, the heart of this festering land. Detail faints into existence around the figures as they travel toward us. Both men break the rhythm of their walk, motioning to their side. Conversation had faded away from us, leaving only the footstep and hymn of the trees.
“The two men in the distance just draw their weapons,” I warn breaking our silent march.
“What of it?” Ulfmaer asks after a moment had passed.
“Sane men don’t walk down an empty road with their weapons in hand.”
“Soldiers?” Fenrir asks, growing caution in his voice.
“Bandits,” Ivar claims. Metal scraps against metal as the mercenary’s swords are drawn forth.
Before too long, the two men halt their advance, still a few paces ahead of us. Wrapped in thick cloaks, the Swordsmen look to have travelled a great distance. These aren’t Sigurdians or men of Osmond, something else entirely. On the left stands the taller of the two, a cape strangles his neck and a stumpy helmet lined with golden plates hides all but his yellow eyes, piercing yellow eyes of a demon. To his right stands a shorter Warlock with two swords, one long and one short. A long brown pony tail hangs behind the man and a face wrap keeps most of the pale man’s face hidden. My eyes are drawn to their swords again as glowing symbols faintly appear down the blades.
“They’re Warlocks!” shouts Fenrir in a panic.
“What do you mean Warlocks?” Fenrir is too distracted, jittering in awe of the swordsmen, to answer me.
“These bounty hunters will die like all the others!” Ulfmaer shouts as he begins to charge forward. I let an arrow loose aimed at the chest of the
tall Warlock. In a move, so fast I barely saw it, the arrow is cut in two. Heavy drops of rain splash into my cheek, as rain starts to beat down in thick punches. The tall Warlock places one foot back and lowers himself, the air shapes into a sphere around him, moving faster than it should. An explosion of movement. He speeds past Ulfmaer, moving so fast he shatters raindrops.
Ulfmaer charges the other Warlock, who is yet to move as Fenrir and Ivar parry the quickened movements of the first. Many strokes of the Warlock’s sword would disappear in an instant. Less than a handful of men from this land could defend against such incredible speed, even for but a moment. Rolling to the side, the Warlock avoids the attack with ease. His attention divides between the two as Ivar and Fenrir attack together Fenrir’s shoulder plate is ripped off and blood seeps from where his armor had been.
Ulfmaer’s axe sits in place, inches from the Warlock. He pushes harder, grunting as he strains himself. Suddenly, Ulfmaer is slamming into a tree at the edge of the road. Eindride charges toward the stationary Warlock. The motionless Warlock breaks, swinging his longsword though he is clearly out of range to strike Eindride. A ripple passes through the air, then Eindride is slammed backward, barely staying on his feet. Again, the Warlock swings his swords preforming a series of attacks to no clear target. Another series of ripples in the air, Eindride sees them as well, raising his shield in defence. His shield is battered like a drum, by the invisible attacks.
The Warlock's Fortune: Act One Page 7
