Misanthropy (Born of the Phoenix Book 2)

by David Murray Forrester

  “Ain’t much in this one either,” Broden stood, wiping ash from his hands. “Maybe we’ll find something good in one of the other houses?”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Argon.

  “Such a waste,” Leighoc shook his head. They had taken a huge risk coming into Granston and so far, it had been for naught. These were desperate times. He needed to find something of value to help alleviate the strain he was under. Crestfallen, he leant against a scorched pillar, staring out at the other burnt houses. Through the smoke and ruins he beheld a lone woman, greatsword in hand, moving swiftly towards them.

  “Shit! Someone’s coming!”

  “What?”

  Panicked, Leighoc grabbed Argon’s arm, urging him towards the door. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here!”

  Darting through the ruined village, the three men made a desperate run for the outlying forest.

  Before they knew they were being pursued, Akella was on them. Griz’mar’s terrifying roar brought them to their knees. Trembling, they huddled together as growling, the stone bear paced back and forth. Broden clutched tightly to a hessian sack of looted goods.

  “Fucking scavengers!” Akella stood over the men. A gust of wind tussled her hair as smoke circled past. “Come to pick the bones of the dead, have we?” She took the trespass personally. The nerve of these men to enter the village and pilfer the houses filled her with rage. The villagers had been massacred and these men showed no respect for the dead. This is what she had come to expect from petty humans. Her judgement was going to be brutal.

  They did not answer. Nervously, they shifted uncomfortably in Griz’mar’s shadow.

  “Up end the sack!” ordered Akella.

  With shaking hands, Broden dropped the bag twice before tipping its contents onto the ground.

  Burnt and blackened cooking pots, a torn animal pelt and worn-out shoes, there were no treasures in the sack, only common items. They had not come for riches, but to obtain the bare necessities needed for survival.

  Neither man carried a weapon. Their cloth was poor and in their eyes was the accumulated misery and desperation of having lived a hard life of poverty.

  Akella’s disposition towards the men changed. She pitied them, even feeling embarrassed for them. Her words had been harsh.

  “Please, we meant no harm.” Broden grovelled before her. “They don’t need these things no more see, and -”

  “We’ll do anything miss, anything!” Leighoc begged. “Don’t tell The Knave we were here. He’ll kill all of us he will! Please miss. Have mercy on us.”

  “Who’s The Knave?”

  The men looked at each other, confused.

  “How doesn’t she not know who The Knave is?” whispered Broden.

  Leighoc shrugged.

  “Well?” Akella was eager for their answer.

  “He’s the one who burned the village down,” said Broden. “Him and the Circle of Bastards.”

  “It was revenge, it was.” Leighoc added. “His son was killed in a duel so he put the village to the torch. Murdered everyone.”

  “So, he’s Jeremy’s father then. Explains why the townsfolk were so afraid of him,” muttered Akella under her breath.

  The words had not escaped Leighoc’s hearing. “You knew Jeremy, then?”

  “I was the one who killed him.”

  The men exchanged silent glances.

  “Do you know where I can find The Knave?”

  “Find him?” Scoffed Leighoc. “Why would you want to go and do a thing like that?”

  “So I can kill him.”

  “Look, miss, you might -”

  Akella raised her hand to silence him. “Just tell me where he is.”

  Leaning forward, Argon whispered into Leighoc’s ear. “She’s crazy.”

  “You think so?” Akella smiled. “I appreciate your concern, but honestly, I’ll be fine.”

  “Just tell her,” Broden nudged Leighoc.

  “Alright, alright. No need to fuss about it,” he said flustered. “There’s an old ruined castle in the forest. You’ll find the Circle of Bastards there. Just follow the road south east. You can’t miss it.”

  “But don’t say we didn’t warn you!” added Argon.

  “South-east, got it.” Looking over the haggard men gave Akella an idea. Lifting her purse, she began counting out gold coins. “Wanna make some coins?”

  “Oh-no!” said Leighoc. “There ain’t enough gold in that bag for us to join you! We’re not warriors, I’m afraid.”

  “Warriors? No, I was going to pay you to bury the bodies in the village. Do you think twelve goldies sounds like a fair price?” she said, holding out the coins.

  Neither man had held gold before. Their eyes lit up as they beheld the lustre of the coins.

  “Aye, we’ll do that for you,” Leighoc nodded. Argon and Broden were grinning at each other. The gruesome work of burying bodies was nothing to them. Finally, they could afford to better provide for their families.

  “Well, I’ll pay you now in good faith because you look like men of your word.”

  “Thank you, Miss. We’ll be kind to the remains of these poor folk and give them a decent, proper burial.” Broden brushed the ash from his hands before taking the coins from Akella.

  “Good luck, Miss. With the Knave, that is.” said Leighoc. “You’re going to need it.”

  Luck? Akella already felt lucky. Sitting atop Griz’mar, she rode from the village, Sunderfall resting upon her shoulder. The Knave and his Circle of Bastards, they had wrought death, now death was coming for them.

  “Should we get some shovels, then?” Broden had no intentions of burying the bodies by hand.

  “Of course, you halfwit!” Argon scratched his chin and turning to Leighoc said. “You forgot to warn her about the forest?”

  “What about the forest?”

  “It’s haunted.”

  “Haunted? That’s nothing but stories that is! Ain’t no craven round these parts.” Leighoc had seen shorku stalking the woodlands surrounding his village but was yet to experience the horror of the craven. Knowing little about the ghostly phantoms of the damned, he paid no heed to warnings about them. “Have you ever been into that part of the forest, Argon?”

  “Me? Never!”

  “Then how do you know the stories are true?”

  “People talk, don’t they!”

  “Aye. They talk about a great many things. But who’s to say what’s true, isn’t it?” He shook a finger at his friend. “You shouldn’t go believing those ghost stories. The Bastards are a good enough reason to stay clear of the south. Now, let’s get to work burying these poor souls.”

  Chapter 2

  The rock walls of the ravine, shaped by eons of weathering, towered above Ravage and Patsy as they walked in shadow. The sun, kissing the peak of the ravine with dawn light, illuminated the stone, revealing its many flaws and cracks. Tufts of long grass sprouted amongst round stones, vibrant with colour, flourishing in rich mineral deposits washed downstream by annual flood waters.

  A stream, gurgling along its path in the centre of the ravine, flowed for many miles south before joining the Cero’mane River; the longest river in the mountain ranges which raged over the Diamond Falls and fed the Engalian Highlands with its nourishing waters of life.

  Barely a sound came from the large paws of the two panguar. Hobson stayed by Patsy’s side, his golden eyes sweeping often to the high peaks. On all fours, the great cat stood a foot taller than the slender woman. Sunlight played upon Sabella’s sleek, black coat. Wandering freely, her dark nose inspecting the strange scents which crossed her path.

  The stream constantly stole Ravage’s attention. She wondered how much gold lay hidden amongst the sandy stones with other precious metals and gems. Thirsty, she bent and cupping her hands, swallowed several mouthfuls of water. As she began to rise, a peculiar rock caught her eye and she retrieved it from the shallows.

  Formations of quarts were segmented by veins of
metal ore, which within Ravage, conjured memories of smelting metals in her father’s forge.

  “It’s always fascinated me,” she said.

  “What has? Rocks?”

  “Metal.” The ore veins, dark in colour, hid specks of orange and blue which caught light with a curious lustre. “Don’t you think it’s interesting, how man first learnt to forge metal by melting ore to extract the minerals it contained?”

  “It is pretty interesting.” Patsy hadn’t given much thought to the origin of metals. She understood why it intrigued Ravage. Being a smith, Ravage spent countless hours forging and shaping a variety of different metals. “Give me a look?”

  Ravage tossed the rock to her.

  “I like the different colours in the ore,” Patsy said, looking intently at the oddities within the veins. She wondered what the first man was thinking, when he conceived the idea of smelting. No ordinary fire could melt stone. The construction of a furnace was an intriguing concept. It was a definitive moment in man’s history. “What type of metal do you think is in here?”

  “It’s hard to say, really,” she said, standing beside Patsy. “These orange parts could be gold or copper. These tinges of blue though, they make me think silver or iron, but they could just be gem particles.”

  “Oh. So you don’t know?”

  “No.” Ravage took the stone back. “I’m not experienced enough. I have thought about furthering my training in smelting and learning how to identify the different types of ore. It’s on the list with all the other things I’d like to learn, but will probably never get around to doing.”

  “Fair enough.” Patsy had a similar list. Sewing and knitting were skills she wanted to learn, though had never taken the time to find someone to teach her. ‘One day’ she told herself.

  Ravage placed the rock in her pocket and tying back her hair, glanced around the ravine.

  “Did you just put that rock in your pocket?” Patsy gave her an odd look.

  “What? I like it.”

  “You’ve been filling your pockets with rocks all morning.”

  “No I haven’t.” Ravage looked side-long at Patsy and to avoid the line of inquiry said, “I wonder how far north we’ve come?”

  “Nice try,” smiled Patsy. “Here we are, in the middle of nowhere and your hoarding rocks?”

  “It’s just a few,” said Ravage. “They’re not heavy.”

  “Well, don’t go bogging yourself down carrying things you don’t need. If Jobee was right with her directions, we’ll end up in the Fornen Swamp and after that, the Trillian Jungle.” Just the thought of such a long journey made her feel exhausted already. Hundreds of miles of untamed land lay ahead of them. “It’s bad enough we don’t have any weapons and if you go filling your pockets with rocks, you won’t be able to outrun anything. You’ll end up being some nasty creature’s lunch.”

  “We do have weapons!”

  “Weapons?” Patsy said, holding up her stick. “This is a sharp stick Ravage. A sharp fricken stick!”

  “It’s better than nothing,” smirked Ravage. It hadn’t been easy to find straight branches. There weren’t many trees in the ravine. The wood wasn’t rotten or weak either. Both sticks had decent weight to them. They might not be death-dealers like swords, but they would suffice to at least fend off a large predator. The panguar were with them, so for now, Ravage wasn’t overly concerned with their safety.

  “I guess so,” said Patsy. She couldn’t believe she was heading into the Fornen Swamp, one of the most dangerous regions in Sapphiron, with no supplies. Running her fingers through Hobson’s thick mane, she turned her attention back to the rocky horizon.

  A lone tower, decrepit with age, stood at the forefront of a horizon bathed with the orange and red of dusk. Its placement, here, so far from civilisation, gave Ravage cause for concern.

  “What do you think?” Ravage, holding her hand to her brow, shielded her eyes from the waning sun, had not the perception to alleviate her suspicions.

  “An old outpost, maybe?” Considering the remoteness, Patsy thought an outpost seemed the best guess.

  “Could be,” said Ravage. “It looks abandoned, which means anything could be living inside.”

  “Don’t worry, our sharp sticks will protect us!”

  Rolling her eyes, Ravage couldn’t help but release a slight chuckle. “Come on, be serious for a moment.”

  Straightening her back, Patsy stared at the tower, contemplating her verdict. “I think we should check it out,” she began. “Hobson and Sabella will alert us if they detect anything suss. It looks like a good place to spend the night too, which will be upon us pretty soon and you never know, we might find something useful inside.”

  “It will be dark soon, won’t it?” Thoughtfully, Ravage’s thumb began running along the smoothness of the ring upon her finger. “Alright, let’s go.”

  The pair increased their pace to arrive before the sun vanished behind the mountains.

  A rusted gate, seized half-open, greeted them at the entrance of the tower. The dirt of ages was caked upon it while broken wood and rocks littered the stone-paved walkway leading inside. Ravage nodded her approval of the gate, banging her fist against its solid edge. With a foot of girth, she had a feeling it wasn’t built to guard against the onslaught of men, but beasts of a larger, far deadlier variety. “This is how you build a gate,” she said, then stepped inside the tower.

  The air was musky, still and carried with it an odour of damp wood. There were traces of water about; remnants from the fierce storm which had assaulted the mountains. The storm, with its devastating lightening, had driven the pair and their companions to seek shelter within the mountain caves. They would never forget that storm, or the ruin and death it reaped.

  Militant, the layout of the halls and chambers was practical and organised. The rooms were barren, save for the debris of leaves and dust. An enclosed spiral staircase led to both upper and lower levels. Ravage ascended, there was no point exploring the lower levels. Without a lantern or brand, they would find only darkness.

  Ravage, gazing ponderously at the surrounding landscape from a window on the second floor, heard growling and turning, was confronted by creature moving towards her. It crept primitively, using its four arms to support a staunch, muscled chest. The creature’s black eyes regarded her suspiciously, for she was an intruder, its fanged mouth curling in a snarl. The beast stood at a similar height to Ravage, its long fingers were tipped with sharp claws. Patsy, standing beside Ravage, was ready to take the beast down should it attack.

  As Sabella stepped onto the second floor, the creature’s demeanour undertook a sudden transformation. Becoming submissive, it lowered its head, the harsh growl changing to a soft whimper. Backing away, it sat, glancing nervously between the dirty floor and the intruders in its home.

  Sabella didn’t give the creature a second look and after sniffing the air, sat and began grooming herself. Hobson, joining the others, rubbed his head on the back of Patsy’s leg. The panguar walked back to the stairs, ascending to the third floor alone.

  If the peculiar beast wasn’t a threat, Ravage had no interest in attacking it. It felt wrong too, to harbour ill feelings towards the creature after its act of submission. “What do you think it is?” she asked, turning to Patsy.

  “No idea,” shrugged Patsy. Live and let live, she thought to herself. She’d probably growl at intruders as well. “It’s pretty scared of the panguar, though.”

  “I think I would be too,” said Ravage.

  “Wanna check out the rest of the tower?”

  “I do.”

  Patsy nodded. Glancing thoughtfully at the four-armed beast, she smiled. “Four arms, that’s got to come in handy, sometimes.”

  The pair, walking up the stairs, joined Hobson on the third floor, which unlike the others, contained only a single room. A makeshift bed, constructed from leaves and grass, was strewn in the corner. Beside it, sat a pile of soil-covered potatoes.

  “W
ild yams,” said Patsy, inspecting the heap. “They look pretty fresh. Should we take some?”

  “Nah,” Ravage shook her head. “We shouldn’t steal Mr Four’s food.”

  “Mr Four?”

  “Well, I don’t know what else to call him. Plus, the name fits.”

  “It does, doesn’t it.” Patsy stood. Again, Hobson had not stayed with them. “Come on,” she said, continuing her ascent.

  Standing on the pinnacle of the tower, Ravage was in wonderment of the majesty of her surroundings. Mountains, capped in silver, were shrouded by dusk clouds. Valleys of rolling hills mirrored the sun’s glow with their long, golden grass, swaying hypnotically from the southerly change. To the north, the ominous silhouette of the Fornen Swamp stretched across the horizon.

  “How many hours of sun do you reckon we have?” Patsy, leaning between the stone parapets, surveyed the land directly below the tower.

  “I’d say, less than an hour,” Ravage looked at her friend. “What are you thinking?”

  “Food, mostly.” Shrubbery grew in sparse patches across the ravine. Patsy wondered if anything edible sprouted amongst the leafy plants. “If Mr Fours has yams, there have to be more close by. Maybe, something even better.” She jumped back, turning to the stairs. “I’ll see what I can find. You wanna-”

  “Get some wood for a fire? Sure. No probs.”

  Night had fallen. With a ravenous hunger for flesh, the panguar wandered into the ravine. Their keen noses, detecting the scent of mountain goats, lead them towards the rolling hills.

  Crackling, small embers from the fire rose, glowing red for a moment before fading into the darkness. Patsy sat close, her thighs absorbing the warmth. Holding her skewer in the flames, she watched eagerly as the yam chips turned golden brown, crisping at the edges.

  “What type of nuts do you think these are?” Ravage broke the soft shell, rubbing the nut between her fingers before consuming it. “They taste a bit like peanuts.”