Tanys Defiant
By Andrew Hunter
Copyright 2010 Andrew Hunter
Kindle Edition
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Chapter 1
Polar winds blasted through the narrow, treeless valley of the Nedorran Pass. Flurries of snow whirled down between the high rock walls and buffeted the naked faces of the human captives whose boots slipped and scuffed across the ice as the troll raiders dragged them northward toward an unknown fate. Four warriors of the Raven Tribe staggered in a ragged line, tethered together by thick leather cords stretched from around the neck of each to the bound hands of the prisoner in front of them. Three of them, tall blonde bearded giants of northern stock, leaned into the wind, heads down as they walked. The fourth held her head high, her long black hair streaming like a banner behind her. Her vibrant green eyes narrowed, searching the white wasteland for any landmarks that might lead her back when an opportunity for escape presented itself. Wrapped tightly in the thin leather and furs of a scout that revealed the feminine curves of her lean frame, Tanys’ limbs ached as the arctic cold leeched out the last of her body’s warmth. She knew her strength would not last much longer, and yet she glared defiantly at her inhuman captors, and would not give them the pleasure of seeing her lose hope.
The trolls had come in the night, as they always did, taking her hunting party by surprise. Though she was a head shorter than the men of her tribe, Tanys stood a foot or two taller than the trolls. The monsters had appeared suddenly around their campfire the previous night. The Raven Tribe’s hunting party might easily have dispatched the five trolls with axe and sword, had there not been a warlock among them. Tanys shuddered to recall the moment when the warlock’s spell had robbed her and her companions of all strength, and her blades had been taken from her as easily as one might snatch a toy from a toddling babe.
The hunch-backed warlock alone among the trolls wore clothing, if only a dirty shift and a bone necklace to mark his rank. The others wore only threadbare loincloths and knife belts with wineskins slung over their bare shoulders. Their oily gray skin glistened in the pale light, seemingly impervious to the cold. Indeed the trolls’ bodies seemed to radiate a constant heat that melted the snow as it touched their skin. As cold as she was, Tanys would have tried to get closer to one, had it not been for their overwhelmingly sour stench. Not only their gray skin marked them as devilkin but also their three-fingered hands and cloven feet. Their long pointed ears jutted out from the sides of low-sloped, hairless heads with heavy brows and large black eyes. Flat, noseless faces split with the devilish grins of wide, sharp-toothed mouths.
Trolls were monsters of the northern wastes, and anyone raised among the northern tribes had good cause to fear them. Still this sort of organized attack seemed unusual for such a cowardly race. Though Tanys had heard stories of troll warlocks and their dark magic, she had never known one to travel so far from the safety of its lair. The taking of prisoners seemed uncharacteristic of them as well. Trolls usually settled for dragging away a badly wounded warrior or a village child who strayed too far from the wall. Attacking and capturing four healthy warriors showed a courage and organization previously unknown in these savage beasts.
The cord around Tanys’ neck tugged hard as the man in front of her stumbled, pulling the tether tight between them before he regained his footing. Likewise, her bound hands were stretched back behind her by the slowing pace of the last man in the line, the youngest warrior, Carix, who had been wounded in the brief skirmish of the troll ambush. Suddenly, Carix’s strength gave way, and he fell, dragging Tanys to her knees on the ice. She strained against the tightened cord around her throat with a small cry of pain. The line of prisoners slid to a halt, and Tanys’ head slumped down for the first time as she gasped for breath. The two men in front of her knelt upon the ice as well, panting hard, trying to regain what strength they could during the brief stop. Carix lay on his side, moaning, with the reopened wound in his shoulder spattering red blood upon the ice. The warlock shouted something in the hoarse language of trolls, and a troll warrior cursed and kicked at the wounded boy who could only cry out for mercy and feebly try to escape the brutal kicks of his captor. At last, the hunch-backed warlock stabbed a clawed finger toward a cleft in the high rock wall of the pass, and the trolls again forced the prisoners to their feet, moving this time toward the shelter of the rocks.
The trolls set up camp in a hollow of the rocks, barely deep enough to keep the wind off. They built a fire, for which the bound and freezing prisoners were at first most grateful, until the monsters dragged young Carix away from the group and made clear the true purpose of the fire. The boy screamed once as they butchered him and set about the grisly task of cooking him for their dinner. Tanys and the others could only look away in horror and curse the fiends for their cruelty. When the trolls had eaten their fill of man-flesh, one of them approached the remaining prisoners, laughing harshly as he offered them a steaming joint of meat. The human warriors only glared and spat at him in return. Casting aside the scrap of flesh, the troll unslung his heavy wineskin and took a long drink from its mouth. With a wicked smirk, he then offered a taste of the jug to the men. One of the men tried to drink from the skin, his thirst overcoming his hatred of his captor, but immediately he spat out the thick brown liquid and gagged at the taste of it. The trolls laughed heartily at this sight, and the wine skin was pressed to Tanys’ lips next.
The troll wine burned hot and sickeningly sweet in her mouth. Her first instinct was to vomit it back out the way her companion had, but she knew that she would need every ounce of strength to survive. She swallowed hard, choking down the thick fiery wine of the devilkin, forcing herself to think only of the vengeance she might gain by living through another night. The potent fire of the wine spread through her body, filling her with a dizzying warmth as she drank deeply, all the while, her emerald eyes glaring up at the foul troll standing above her. At last, the look of amusement faded from the troll’s face, and he snatched away the wine skin, spilling it down the front of Tanys’ tunic and onto the ground where it melted dark holes in the snow. He cast a hateful glance backwards at her as he returned to the fire where the other trolls were hooting with laughter.
The shapes of the trolls and the men beside her grew hazy and indistinct in Tanys’ eyes. The wine’s fire raged in her body, until, delirious with heat, she fell sideways into the snow and lost consciousness with only the cool sensation of ice against her cheek and the blazing of a bonfire in her chest.
****
Tanys’ reason returned the following day to find she still marched northward into the lifeless wastes beyond the pass. She now walked at the front of the line, the short leash around her neck held by the foremost troll warrior and the two remaining men of her party staggering weakly behind her. The cold no longer seemed to penetrate as deeply. In fact, her brow glistened with sweat from the exertion of the march. The flush of the troll wine lingered still, and a feverish heat radiated from her skin. Though her stomach ached with hunger and nausea, her strength had returned, and she no longer had any fear of the elements. When they stopped again at midday, Tanys again drank of the troll wine and urged the men to do the same. Each was able to gulp down a little of the fiery brew, and they gained a measure of strength from its effects. By the time the gray skies began to darken above the featureless plain of ice, the three warriors of the Raven Tribe walked with their heads high, ready to face whatever lay in store for them ahead.
They pressed on through nightfall as the seemingly eternal winds died away and the sky cleared. There beneath a milky tapestry of countless stars and the shimmering ghost lights of the northern sky, they arrived at a colossal rift in the glacial ice. Nearly a
mile wide, the great chasm stretched away, from the northwest to the southeast, deep and impassible. The trolls led their prisoners to the very edge of the escarpment, and Tanys could see a great city of the devilkin sprawling across the floor of the chasm and carved into the ice of its very walls. A narrow, twisting path of treacherous ice led down the canyon wall, and the prisoners passed several troll guard posts hollowed out of the ice wall along the way. The people of her tribe had never guessed at the hidden strength of their ancient foe. Tanys’ heart leapt with fear to realize that these beasts could have easily swept down upon her village at any time and overwhelmed the strongest of their warriors by sheer numbers alone.
As their captors led them down into the city itself, a crowd of trolls began to grow around them, hooting and clambering around the prisoners to pinch them with grubby three-fingered paws and strike them with sticks. A leering troll villager grabbed Tanys’ long hair and pulled hard. Tanys spun as best she could and kicked him solidly in the face, sending him bloody and squealing into the snow. Her captors had to fight back the angry mob to keep them from tearing her apart after that, but no one else tried to grab her hair.
Down at the base of the valley, the trolls lived much as the humans of her tribe did, in low sturdy mud huts. The smoke from cook fires hung like a greasy haze everywhere, and the overpoweringly sweet scent of troll wine permeated everything. Trolls went about their business all around them, working by moon or torchlight. They fashioned planks from raw lumber with iron hatchets, mashed black fruit into steaming kettles, or dried fish on wooden racks. Where they came by such resources in these icy wastes remained a mystery.
Their trek ended at last in the slave pits of the troll city. Huge rifts had been hewn into the frozen earth and these overlaid with a crisscrossed network of wooden bars above, presumably to prevent escape, although the walls of the deep pits seemed so smooth to Tanys’ eyes as to deny any hope of climbing back out again. The only way in or out of the pits was by a rope harness, lowered and raised by a pair of huge trolls, each nearly as big as a man of Tanys’ tribe. Tanys and her companions were freed of their bonds and lowered down into the pit, seeing no more of the trolls that captured them as the rope was pulled back up, leaving the humans ankle-deep in the stinking mud of the pit’s floor. Tanys rubbed at the chaffed flesh of her neck and wrists, her eyes straining in the dim light to find some means of escape from the dark pit.
After a few moments, the walls were illuminated by flickering torchlight, and Tanys turned to see a group of four men approaching, one carrying a torch, the others with wooden cudgels. From their large size and thick fur coats, she guessed them to be men of the Bear Tribe, probably taken the same way as the ravens had been by troll magic. Otnar, one of Tanys’ companions, greeted them, happy to see another human in this foul place, but the bear folk only advanced menacingly with their clubs held ready for a fight.
“Give us your food,” the largest of the bear tribesmen said, “and the woman.”
Otnar’s eyes narrowed, and he dropped into a defensive crouch as he replied, “We have no food, bear-friend, and, believe me, you don’t want the half-breed woman. No man of our tribe will have her. She’s good only for hunting.”
“No tricky words, Blackbird,” the bear warrior growled, “You give us what we want, or you’ll wish you had.”
“Then come and take it, bear man,” Otnar said, “but remember that I warned you.”
The bear folk fell upon them with frightening savagery, and though her companions fought hard, they were still weakened by their ordeal and staggered under the blows of the mighty bear men’s cudgels. For her part, Tanys dodged to and fro, barely avoiding the massive grasping hands of the bear man leader. His rage grew by the moment as her speed and dexterity made him a fool. With no sure footing to deliver a kick, she struck with her fists. Each strike left another bruising welt on his scarred face, but did little to stop his relentless advance.
“Run, Tanys!” a bloodied Otnar screamed as he fell beneath the hammering blows of the bear men, and though she did not know where to go, she ran.
“Get her!” the scar-faced bear tribesman shouted, and the other warriors turned their attention from the beaten raven men on the ground and took up the pursuit of Tanys as she fled.
The slave pits were a series of intersecting rifts with small shelters gouged into the muddy walls. Here and there, small groups of people huddled together for warmth around meager fires, but there was no place to hide, and none of the other slaves would even lift their heads to meet her gaze when she cried out for help. At last, she found herself cornered in a dead-end passageway, the bear men backing her slowly toward the wall as they advanced with their bloody cudgels ready.
“No more running, little bird,” the bear man said, and the others laughed with him.
Tanys looked around for anything she could use as a weapon, wishing fervently that she still had her blades, but nothing could be found as she backed away, rapidly running out of options. Suddenly she stumbled, tripping over a small man huddled under a blanket against the back wall. Tanys found herself lying across his knees and looking up into a frighteningly grotesque face.
At first she thought the stranger was a troll. His face and hairless head were covered in dark gray tattoos of swirling runic designs. His large angular ears and dark eyes seemed almost inhuman, and his broad grin showed gleaming white teeth that had been filed to points. As she scrambled clear of the strange little man, she realized that she had spilled his bowl of soup when she tripped over him. He rose to his feet, casting away the tattered blanket to reveal a bare chest of rippling muscles likewise covered with gray rune tattoos. Ragged canvas pants hung from his waist, sporting sinister dark reddish stains. His long fingers ended in pointed yellow nails that now flexed into claws as his muscular body hunched in preparation for a fight.
“Stay clear of this Beast Man!” the bear tribesman called out, “She’s ours!”
“She ruin Jorva’s supper!” the tattooed man hissed through dagger-like teeth, “She owe to Jorva now.”
“Stupid halfwit!” the bear man spat, “take him down too!”
The bear tribesmen moved in to surround Tanys and the tattooed stranger as they had the raven folk. One of the bear men stepped in quick with a whistling overhand blow at Jorva’s face, but the little man moved with blinding speed, sidestepping the blow and leaping upon the back of the larger man. The tribesman screamed as the monstrous dwarf tore the man’s right ear away with his jagged teeth. The warrior’s club dropped into the mud as he tried to shake Jorva from his back.
Tanys saw her chance and dived for the club. She had never yet met the man who could best her with a weapon in her hand. The leader of the bear tribesmen lunged at her, swinging hard with his club, but she turned aside the blow with her own cudgel and sent him sprawling in the mud with a kick to the back of his knee. She spun around and felled another man with a lightning-quick blow to the side of his head. A horrible shriek drew her attention to the remaining bear warrior who staggered away from the fight with both hands clutched to the ruins of his face, as Jorva danced and giggled through red lips.
The leader of the bear tribesmen rose to his feet again to find his men mangled and staggering from the battle. He spat a curse and leveled his club at Tanys. “You’ll regret this… both of you!” he shouted. As he turned to follow his men away, Jorva leapt upon the bear tribesman’s back. The big man had only time for one gurgling scream as the dwarf snapped his head back and tore out his throat.
Standing over the massive body of his foe, Jorva turned, wiping the gore from his lips, to smile redly at Tanys. “Jorva not like loose ends,” he said.
“Thank you,” Tanys said, brushing a long strand of hair from her eyes with her free hand, still holding the club ready, in case the little man turned on her as well.
“Was fun,” Jorva grinned, “You ruin Jorva’s supper. You owe Jorva now.”
Tanys tightened her grip on the club and wondered if she
could outrun the little man or if she would have to fight him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I would like to repay you, but I don’t have any food.”
“Jorva have plenty food,” he replied, dragging the dead man away from his camp, “you pay back another way.”
“What did you have in mind?” Tanys asked warily, still not lowering her club.
“Neck rub,” Jorva answered, still grinning.
“Neck rub?” Tanys was taken aback.
“Jorva get bad pain in neck sometimes.” He said, picking up his blanket and rummaging through a large bag that apparently contained his personal belongings.
Tanys stared at the tattooed dwarf, now streaked with blood from the fight. His massive muscles flexed tightly beneath his gray-lined skin as he wiped his face with a filthy rag. Were she to come within arm’s reach of him, she might very well become the replacement for his spilled supper. Still, she could think of no other options.
“I guess I can rub your neck,” she said, hesitantly, taking a step towards him with her free hand outstretched.
“Hah,” Jorva laughed, “Neck not hurt now! Just have fight. Jorva feel fine. You rub neck later. Eat now.” With that, he began to rummage through his bag in earnest, pulling out strips of dried meat, bits of moldy fruit, and a large jug that sloshed wetly as he dumped it on the ground beside him.
Tanys couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the little killer, humming tunelessly as he prepared a slave’s feast, and soon she was laughing along with him as the tension of the fight seeped away. “Listen, Jorva,” she said, “I truly appreciate your help, and I do owe you a neck rub. I would also like to share your supper, but I came here with two men of my tribe, and I must go and find them now.”
“Bring friends!” Jorva said “Plenty food for us!”
Tanys collected the remaining clubs from the bloody mud and tucked them under one arm as she retraced her steps back toward the place where the raven men had met the bear men. Some of the slaves huddling beside their fires looked up in surprise as she passed them again. Her icy glare shamed them, and none could meet her burning eyes for more than a moment before looking away. She found Otnar and his brother Klas badly beaten and kneeling in the mud, each man’s face a mass of bruises. Seeing her return, unharmed, filled their eyes with amazement and perhaps a little fear. She cast two of the clubs at their feet and told them to follow her. The remaining two clubs she tucked into her belt as she lead them back to Jorva’s camp.
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