The second arrow plunged almost as far as the first did, stopping nearly halfway in its length. He grinned in exultation as the creature flinched again. What he saw next alarmed him, and stole his moment of glory. The first arrow, sank over a hand’s depth into the creature abruptly fell off, as if all of what had penetrated the beast had been simply pushed out from within. The length of the arrow, from feathers to barren tip fell to the ground as if the arrowhead had never existed. Malwynn looked up from the impotent arrow to the creature, and saw it had started to rumble towards him again.
Flanking the creature, Umaryn had dismounted, slapping Tinder to send it away from the battle. She already had her weapon; Chael’s hammer up, and was twisting her whole body into the hardest swing she could manage, directly at the rear leg joint of the Walker. Malwynn closed his eyes as he accepted his death approaching him.
It didn’t come. Instead he heard Umaryn’s powerful grunt of the swing, and the resulting wet snap of the small metal head of the hammer impacting the joint. In his mind’s eye the strike to the knee sounded wet, like a mother slapping a pile of her children’s wet laundry, yet also much like the breaking of a green tree branch. He wondered what about the animal’s nature would make such a strange noise. He had precious time to ponder the mystery though, as the creature staggered sideways, his sister’s hammer blow clearly having damaged it. On three powerful legs instead of four, the monster spun itself in a near-perfect circle, and put the side of both of the horns directly into his sister’s torso, tossing her through the air ten feet like she was a bale of hay. She screamed in pain and fear for her entire journey through the air, and landed on her ass, flattening her back and head out powerfully against the earth. She lay still while Malwynn scrambled to find another arrow as the creature turned its attention towards his sister and Tinder, as the horse backed away in fear.
Malwynn drew the bow string and sized up where the creature was vulnerable. In a split second he noticed how the creature was favoring the knee his sister had struck. He hoped strongly that the other joints were equally vulnerable, and sent his arrow into the knee of the leg closest to where he still knelt. The arrow pierced the thick skin of the creature as easily as before, but lodged in something firm very quickly. The arrow could not pass through the joint, for there was too much bone and muscle there, but the projectile stopped in the midpoint, gumming up the tender ligaments, tendons, and stopping the leg’s functionality almost completely. Malwynn held his breath as he reached around in the grass hoping that this third arrow wouldn’t fall out harmlessly. By the time he’d found another useful arrow, the knee joint was still locked stiff from the arrow.
“Umaryn, get up, we’ve hurt it!” Malwynn said as he got to his feet. She stirred slightly, the tremendous blow having tossed her consciousness around. Malwynn circled the creature as it hobbled on two good and two bad legs. It was confused now, unsure of where the danger came. The two massive horns swung side to side threateningly, not actually in danger of harming anyone. Mal took a couple quick steps in and flung another arrow into a different leg, missing the joint but piercing through the flesh just below it. The creature jerked to the side again, and suddenly lost the strength to stand. It fell sideways onto the ground, revealing its underbelly.
Malwynn caught his breath as he saw a trench in the stomach of the beast. From what he imagined to be the chest to the crotch there was a mouth running the length of the creature. He hadn’t seen the thick skin forming into lips and prehensile feelers that must have been the creature’s enormous mouth. It was so wide and long it could have easily lowered itself onto Malwynn or Umaryn, and swallowed them whole. He looked up and saw his sister, limping over to his side, giving the immobilized creature a wide berth.
“Look at this,” Umaryn said, hefting her weapon, Chael’s hammer up. The hammer’s perfectly polished head was bent, deformed, and pockmarked as if it had been immersed in flame and acid. The weapon looked ruined. Umaryn’s eyes were filled with tears over the destruction of the weapon she’d hoped to put to good use against the people who had killed her parents. Malwynn watched as her lips trembled and her teeth clenched in anger.
“Maybe you can fix it with The Way?” Malwynn asked, feeling the pain in his stomach and chest rise and fall with his breath. He wondered if the fall from Bramwell had cracked a rib or two.
She nodded, wiping away the tears, “Maybe. How do we kill this damn thing? Where is its head? Where is its heart? Is Bramwell okay? Are you okay?”
Malwynn looked back at his new Gvorn and assessed it. The animal shouldn’t be ridden for at least a day, but it appeared to be none the worse for wear. The dead necromancer’s mount was a rugged creature. “He’ll be okay I think. Although neither he, nor you or I are in any shape to ride any more today. We need rest.”
Umaryn reached a hand around to her backside and massaged her lower back. He was right. She would fold to the pain after just a few minutes of trying to ride Tinder. “Agreed. But still, how do we kill this thing? It isn’t right to let it suffer like this.”
“Your hammer is nearly destroyed from striking it. My arrows had their tips disintegrated and were shunted straight out of its flesh. Anything metal seems to be eaten by the touch of the creature.”
Both were quiet for a bit. Umaryn’s eyes opened after a bit, full of inspiration, “Help me get a large stone from the stream. I wonder if this thing can handle being beaten by a large rock?”
In fact, the Plains Walker could not withstand being beaten with a large rock. The twins found a stone almost the size of a man’s belly on the edge of the stream. The smooth oval-shaped rock was worn from centuries of water flow, and was nearly too heavy for them to lift high. Had they been in a less damaged state it would’ve been easier, but good fortune was something that had not been in their life for several days. The twins heaved the stone onto the creature’s belly multiple times, hitting so the stone would tumble end over end and land on the ground. They were fearful of touching the beast.
A score of these blows and the Walker’s breathing stopped. They’d finally ruptured something inside it enough, and freed it from the pain of having three of its limbs ruined.
“I remember talking to Luther about these things at the forge,” Umaryn said as the two slumped to the ground, exhausted.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Luther said they were a real bane to metalworkers, but were damn good eating. I wonder how we eat this thing?” She asked.
Malwynn could hear her stomach rumble from his seat next to her, “Are you serious? You want to try and eat this thing? It destroyed a bunch of my arrows, and your hammer. How do we gut it? You have a stone knife handy?”
“That’s a great idea Mal! Hold on.” Umaryn got to her feet with as much energy and enthusiasm as she could muster, given the circumstances. She hobbled her way over to the stream and searched around for several minutes, overturning rocks and using her dagger to dig through the earth. After a good time searching, she came back, holding a rock that only resembled a knife in the loosest possible way. It was perhaps eight inches long, and about as thick as her wrist, and approximately the same sharpness. She had a grin from ear to ear.
“What. The. Hell. Is. That?” Malwynn asked her, his voice dripping with sarcasm and judgment.
Still grinning she held the stone up proudly to him after crossing her legs on the ground next to him, “This is our stone knife. We’re gonna keep this around I think. Could be useful down the line.”
“I think your fall might have knocked you senseless Umaryn. I think you’ve gone loony.”
Her grin remained for a moment, but then disappeared as she produced a smaller stone from her trouser pocket. With an intensity he’d only seen from her at the forge, she cradled the larger stone and started to hit it with the smaller stone, chipping flecks and bits of rock away, shaping it into a far more knifelike state. After ten minutes of sweat inducing work, she held her new tool aloft; a less dull rock.
“Wow. That’
s not much different at all,” Malwynn said, all the sarcasm from his earlier taunts still dripping in his words.
In complete seriousness Umaryn ignored his tone, “To an artificer my brother, there couldn’t be any more difference now.” Resting the hard round stone on the ground between her legs Umaryn took the knife stone into her hands fully, and cradled it as if it were a kitten, or precious treasure. She closed her eyes and began to issue forth a chant, a steady repeating of syllables and sounds that formed no words. She caressed the length of what was supposed to be the edge of the blade on the rock as she did this, and Malwynn watched in astonishment as the stone itself seemed to melt at her touch, altering its shape to be straight, and far sharper than he could’ve imagined.
“The Way. Wow. I didn’t think an artificer could use The Way on a simple rock,” Malwynn said as she ended her chant.
“This wasn’t a simple rock anymore Mal. I spent time hewing it into a tool, rough as it was. I breathed life into it with my effort, and passion to create something out of it. I gave it a small spirit, then used the Chant of Sharpness to persuade the spirit to be a little bit sharper for us, if only for a bit.” Umaryn said softly, almost in reverence of the magic she’d just brought to bear.
“I will never understand The Way.” Malwynn shook his head.
“You don’t have to understand it right now. Right now I want you to get a fire started down near that stream, so we can cook the steaks I’m about to carve out of this thing’s ass. Destroy my damn hammer. I’ll fucking eat you.”
Malwynn got to his feet quickly, sporting his own ear to ear grin.
Umaryn discovered quite a bit about the creature when she dissected it in search of dinner. It had no ears, or eyes. How it navigated the world was lost on her. The Plains Walker’s skin was leathery, and supple, but had several strange qualities to it. It had two very different layers. The interior layer was fatty, and resinous, almost like a sheath of cartilage covering the entire body. The exterior layer was very similar to the hide of a cow, or horse, but it was free of hair. Instead, it was covered with visible pores across its entire surface. Umaryn was able to press down on the skin hard enough for the pores to ooze a viscous, almost mucus like substance. The clear fluid did nothing to the stone knife she wielded, but when the substance was placed on her lucky iron nail, the results were startling. It ate away at the metal, corroding it and turning its nature to something more akin to wax, instead of iron.
Within seconds her lucky nail had lost its shape, and was gone forever. A moment later Umaryn kicked the dead creature’s body repeatedly out of spite.
The flesh of the Walker was very tough when cooked over the spit Malwynn fashioned. Neither knew if this was the nature of the meat, or if Malwynn was a terrible cook, but it didn’t matter, their hunger overpowered any complaints they might’ve had, the flavor was surprisingly good, and the two gobbled up the dark brown meat as fast as they could, eating ravenously.
They sat together, basking in the glory of their kill, completely sore and miserable for the entire cool evening by the stream. For a few moments, they were able to forget they were orphans. When the train heading from Graben to Daris passed by an hour before the sun fully set, its wheels squeaking and groaning on the iron rails, and its artificer-maintained locomotive spitting a great white puff of steam high into the air, they were reminded bitterly of the reality of their situation.
“Do you understand how much weight this poor Gvorn is carrying for you? And how badly this stinks? Umaryn it’s wretched,” Malwynn said, clutching his nostrils shut. On the back of Bramwell Umaryn had draped the skin of the Walker. She’d taken the hide off with her stone knife just minutes before, claiming if she could get it to a tanner by day’s end, it’d make right fine armor.
“I know Mal, but he’s so big. He won’t even notice he’s carrying it.” She pleaded with her brother.
“It weighs three times what I do for ancestor’s sake. It’s big enough to cover his entire body for his own armor.”
Her eyes lit up in genius, “Now that’s an idea. Gvorn barding made of Plains Walker leather? We’d be filthy rich Mal. Varrland Marks piled as high as the clouds. Puddings, steak, and fresh breads at our fingertips every minute of every day. Can you imagine it?” She trailed off, clearly imagining it.
“You are insane.”
She nodded, suddenly a bit sad, “Yeah I am. The money would never stack that high. All those coins would tip over first.”
Malwynn put his face in his hands, giving up. Umaryn climbed up into Tinder’s saddle gingerly, testing the bruised and battered muscles that kept her from riding the afternoon prior. She winced but knew the pain would be manageable if they took it slow.
“Ready?” Mal asked, shortening the reins on Bramwell.
“Almost, give me a moment to attend to something,” Umaryn said, reaching under the small blanket on Tinder’s rump and producing her deformed weapon. Chael’s hammer had stopped its wasting away shortly after Umaryn had shown it to Malwynn. It was still a misshaped lump of steel at the end of a warhammer’s shaft, a travesty compared to its former glory. Umaryn closed her eyes and lifted the weapon’s head close to her mouth, whispering to it, and dragging her fingers across the lines of the oddly shaped blob. Malwynn became uncomfortable watching her cast the spell after a moment more. It seemed too personal, too intimate, and almost sexual. He felt perverted just being nearby, and actually turned Bramwell about to give her more privacy.
After a minute or two of using The Way, she stopped. “Wow. It worked.”
Malwynn brought Bramwell about once more and looked at the weapon. Yet again he was amazed at the magic his sister wielded; the weapon was exactly as it had been before the acidic Walker’s skin had ruined it. Fully polished and in perfect condition, ready for war.
“Fantastic work.”
“Thank you. Remind me again why we aren’t wearing our armor now. And why we’ve wrapped the Amaranth axes in our blankets? I feel very vulnerable without armor handy,” She said as she slipped the warhammer back into its resting place.
“As nice as it is to wear decent armor in the wild, I think we’ll receive an entirely different welcome in a Varrland town if we ride in wearing armor from the Empire. I think we’ll be the ones answering uncomfortable questions. Better to seem forgettable right now,” Malwynn answered.
“That’s pretty sound reasoning brother. I think I’ll keep you around.”
“You’ve got little choice in the matter dear sister. Let’s get to Ockham’s Fringe. Only one train left today heading into Graben, and I’d like to get there before it leaves.”
Brother and sister, battered, bruised and sore, left the corpse of the Plains Walker behind, and headed north to the last town in their home country. It felt eerily similar to walking up to the edge of a cliff to them.
They did not reach Ockham’s Fringe in time to catch the last train passing through from Daris to Graben. They knew that when it passed them heading north before they reached the village.
Ockham’s Fringe was a traditional Varrlander village. The town proper was larger than New Picknell, nearly three or four times the size by their estimation. Every structure inside the town was encircled by a tall and thick wooden wall reinforced by earth piled against its interior. The wall was sturdy, and was designed to keep undead both out and in should something terrible happen in the village. Most of the buildings inside the sturdy walls were made of brick and mortar, with smooth glass windows framed in iron bars should the undead attempt to get in, or out.
Outside the town’s walls the first thing a visitor on the trains would see was the artificer rail station. Far larger than the solitary platform outside New Picknell, this was a building large enough to house a dozen souls waiting for a train in the rain, as well as a platform running along the rails the length of the twin’s former home in New Picknell. The roof was covered in expensive slate tile and the building itself formed of brick and mortar. On both sides of the structure sat t
wo rows of large oak trees that had been brought over a long distance and grown to give the building more presence. It was a small icon of the power of the Artificer Guild in a tiny and remote place. Umaryn was in rapture looking at it.
They tied their mounts off outside the building and walked through the wide double oak doors into the main room of the station. To one side was a single window that had a hand painted sign above it reading; PASSAGE TICKETS. On the other side of the window sat a middle aged man with a receding hairline, and slightest touch of gray hair at the temples. He fidgeted with a block of wood and a small but sharp knife as they approached. He sat it down quickly and perked up.
“May I help you?” The artificer asked politely.
“We were looking to buy passage for two adults and two beasts of burden to Graben on the next train,” Malwynn asked, trying to feel comfortable and at ease. In reality on the inside he was knotted up with anxiety. This was the first living person they’d spoken to since New Picknell had been destroyed, and Mal felt as if the man knew their plan for vengeance.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. The last train departed about half an hour ago. Would you like to purchase passage on the midday train tomorrow?”
“Yes that’d be fine thank you,” Malwynn said back, feeling a bit more comfortable. He reached to his belt for the small bag of Varrland Marks he kept. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had.
“Well we are three quarters of the trip from Daris to Graben here at Ockham’s Fringe. That discounts the passage price from 55p to just 13p each. Passage price for two horses is another 5p each. Total, that adds up to 36p. We also take Marks and Crowns, sorry.” The artificer couldn’t have been from Varrland, despite his notable Varrlander accent. No self respecting resident of Varrland would tell anyone a price quoted in Pieces, and not Marks. Pieces were used in Duulan and Farmington, but not here when Marks were available.
At Least He's Not On Fire: A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head Page 16
