“Aye, sir” was repeated five times.
Esselles-demon extended his senses. As he pushed them up the bluffs, he encountered about a dozen minds. They were unshielded and did not strike him as being particularly bright. Blood lust, greed, and hunger were on the forefront of most minds he encountered. He pulled his senses back in and waited for the attack.
It came quickly. The uruks came charging down the bluffs, yelling and screaming as they did so. The transport lurched forward as Clawson snapped the reins. The uruks raced to surround it.
“Now!” Landir shouted, standing up and pulling the hood down over the driver’s seat.
Esselles-demon stood up and began firing into the midst of the uruks. It was easy to spot the gaps in their shoddy armor, as their body heat gleamed in the cool night air. It took him a few shots to fully get the technique of firing the bow, but once he did, one after the other fell to his arrows.
In the front of the wagon, Reston’s bow was whistling. Esselles-demon stole a look and was impressed that he was even more accurate. Why couldn’t I have been transmuted into an Elf at least? he asked down the link, not caring whether Renamir was listening or not.
“Shit,” Landir said. “Logs in the road. Clawson, do you think we can get this thing through the sand?”
“Yes, sir, but it will be slow going,” the driver answered.
“We don’t have much choice. I don’t want to get out to clear the logs.” Landir poked his head out the back of the hood. “Keep those uruks away from the wagon. Some of them have grappling hooks. We don’t want to lose a wheel.”
“Aye, sir,” Kyell said. He dropped his bow in the pit and jumped over the side of the wagon.
“Dumb-ass Ostarian, I meant with your bow!” Landir shouted after him. “Shit. Hawkblood. Get down there and help him out. And try to get him back here. His people hate uruks. He’s liable to go into blood fury.”
“Aye, sir,” Esselles-demon said as he discarded his bow. He drew his sword and jumped over the side of the wagon. He tucked and rolled as he landed on the hard packed road.
Kyell was already running forward to engage the uruks that were charging from the rear. Esselles-demon sprinted after him.
Kyell literally dove into a group of four, slicing two through the stomach as he flew past. He tucked and rolled, coming through the other side. He sprang to his feet, pivoted, and swung his sword so fast, he nearly decapitated a fourth before it even knew he was behind him.
Forget the Elf, Esselles-demon transmitted. An Uranthian is more my style.
The remaining uruks swarmed over Kyell. With a yell, Esselles-demon attacked their flank. He swung his sword wildly, summoning Esselles’ memories of his training. But his body lacked the repetition of the training, and he found himself unable to use the sword effectively. Still, he cut one down before two others disarmed him. One uruk stabbed Esselles-demon in the abdomen and three others dove on him, plunging their daggers into him.
Esselles-demon instinctively reached forward with his mind and folded space, putting him on the back of one who had attacked him. He bit down on its neck. He pulled back, expecting to have a mouthful of neck. He did, but it was nowhere near what he was used to. He cursed his form again and resorted to grabbing the uruk to snap his neck. He was surprised to find a neck so thick and solid, it was difficult to snap.
The pile of uruks in front of him recovered from their momentary confusion at having lost their prey and turned to help their shouting comrade. The uruk with Esselles-demon on his back dove to the ground to let the others get at their enemy.
Esselles-demon waited until the last possible instant before folding space. The descending sword was just touching him when he slipped through the sliver gap that appeared below him. He watched from a few feet away as the sword continued downward and buried into the back of the uruk.
Esselles-demon looked down at his hand and concentrated. He willed the transmutation spell to revert and watched as his nails, which had already lengthened from the effects of his use of demonic energy, pushed out to a full two inches. He smiled as the uruks closed in on him again.
With a lunge forward and a lightning quick swing of his arm, he slashed out the trachea of the lead uruk. It staggered and dropped its sword. Looking beyond the two in front of him, Esselles-demon could see Kyell being tackled. He dove into the uruk on the left and bowled him over. With his hand pressed against its chest, he unleashed a blast of magical energy straight into its heart. The uruk convulsed once and was still.
Esselles-demon ran toward Kyell. He jumped on the back of the nearest uruk and drove a claw into its eye. The uruk lashed back in pain. To his right, he heard an arrow whistle through the air and thunk into another uruk. Esselles-demon pulled the uruk back and tossed him to the ground. It was enough to free Kyell.
Kyell pulled a dagger from his sheath and drove it in to one of the two remaining uruks that had overborne him. He slid out from under the second, recovered his sword, and plunged it into the uruk’s rib cage.
Esselles-demon looked down at his clawed hand and then thought better of it. He pulled the knife from his hip sheath and drove it into the throat of the squirming uruk he had stabbed in the eye. There were no more uruks around them – alive anyway.
He went to help Kyell up, as he was bleeding from a number of wounds, but Kyell waved him away. Clinching his teeth in pain, he extracted a dagger from his thigh and proceeded to tie off the wound with a strip of cloth torn from his tunic.
Esselles-demon found and recovered his sword, then returned to Kyell. Kyell stood up and put an arm over Esselles-demon’s shoulder and they ran towards the transport.
The transport had stopped in the sand. At first, Esselles-demon wondered whether it had been stuck. Then he noticed the grounds were littered with dead uruks and the rest were fleeing up the hillside, dodging the arrows Carrel and Reston fired at them.
“What’s wrong with your chin?” Kyell asked.
Esselles-demon hesitated a moment.
Tell him you were struck hard on it, Renamir projected through the link.
“I was hit with the pommel of a sword,” Esselles-demon said.
Down the link he said, I didn’t know you were there.
I saw the whole thing, Renamir sent back. Hopefully, no one watched you too closely as you fought.
I couldn’t let them kill me.
No, you did fine, Renamir reassured him. And I am glad to see you went to help Kyell instead of just finishing off the two in front of you.
It was what Hawkblood would have done.
You learn quickly, Renamir said. And well.
What am I going to do about my face and hands? the demon asked.
Hide them, Renamir answered. Convince them to work on Kyell first. And reverse as much of the claws as possible.
When they reached the transport, Esselles-demon called out. “We need some help here. Kyell took a dagger in the leg. I’m okay. Just a few scratches and scrapes.”
Carrel jumped down to help. Rashel opened the transport door.
“My god, you are both covered in blood,” she exclaimed.
“Mostly theirs,” Esselles-demon reassured her. “Here, take him. I’ll carry the swords.”
“No,” Kyell said as Esselles-demon reached for his. “I’ll just sheathe it.”
“I’m going top side,” Esselles-demon said as they climbed into the transport. “In case they regroup and counter-strike.”
“Good idea,” Carrel said. “I’ll come up with you. You’ve got things here?” he asked Rashel.
“I’ll be fine,” she answered. “I’ve patched Kyell up before. He’s a good patient,” she said with a smile.
Esselles-demon climbed the ladder, keeping his right hand wrapped around the pommel of his sword, which he held in front of his chest. When he reached the top he said to Landir, “I’ll take the back bow pit.”
“Okay,” Landir called back. “Stay sitting. We’re going to start moving and it’s going to
be very jerky through the sand.”
As soon as Esselles-demon reached the bow pit, he focused all of his concentration on retracting his claws and shrinking his jaw.
*
Belgar gave Esselles a play by play as he watched the combat below.
“That Ostarian just jumped over the side,” he said, laughing. “He’s gonna take on about a dozen of them. Wait, you just jumped over too.”
Belgar shifted on to his side. “Ha, looks like you need a few sword lessons,” he called back to Esselles, who had moved to the side of the wagon that was as close to the bluffs as possible. “You’re swinging that sword like an amateur.”
Belgar rolled back over to watch. “Shit, they just tackled you. You’re a dead man. Wait, you’re out again. Being a demon must come in handy, huh?” He laughed at his own joke. “Wow, that thing’s fast. I could barely see its arm move.
“Hey, they finally got the Ostarian down. Seven to one. Not too bad odds. Oh, well. You’re going to rescue him. Typical do gooder city guard.” He paused. “Damn, that Elf’s a good shot. He took that uruk out at fifty yards. In combat no less.
“Shit, the Ostarian’s still alive. Damn, looks like combat is over.” He inched back from the edge and stood up, brushing himself off. “Just when things were getting interesting.”
Belgar turned back to the wagon. “Time to…”
He never finished the sentence. A heavy lead ball struck him in the face. A hollow crack accompanied his muffled exclamation and Belgar staggered backward. His foot caught the edge of the bluff but the ground gave out underneath. He tumbled over the edge, bouncing off the rocks as he fell.
Unfortunately for Esselles, the lead ball followed suit. Its momentum carried it over the edge, and with him having fully extended to heave it at Belgar, it easily pulled him off the wagon. He fell to the ground at the edge of the bluff. The chains snapped tight as it carried over the edge. He scrambled for a handhold, but the dirt and grass tore out in his grasp. The weight of the ball pulled him over the edge.
He too bounced down the shale cliffs. He tried to get into a position so he could slide down the scree on his backside as best as the chains and the jarring would allow. Pain shot through his knee as he bounced off a large boulder. He tumbled and fell the last fifteen feet to the sand. He landed in a crumpled heap. His head was spinning from where it had bounced off rocks and blood filled his vision. His head slumped to the left. His last vision, just before he blacked out from the trauma, was that of the broken and bloody form of Belgar. His face was caved in and his head lolled at an unnatural angle. His lifeless eyes reflected the moonlight.
Chapter Fourteen
A tongue dragged across Esselles’ face. Again. He tried to open his eyes but found them crusted with blood. His attempt to touch his face failed as well – the shackles restricting his arm movements. The movement of the chains startled whatever was licking him. He heard it jump back.
Esselles rolled onto his left hip in order to pull the chains out from underneath his body. When he had finally managed to do so, he had enough slack to reach his face. He licked his hand and wiped some of the blood out of his lashes. Eventually, he succeeded in freeing his right eye. He blinked it open.
A few feet away stood two small wolf pups. They were keeping their distance, but obviously curious as to what Esselles was. He kept his movements slow so as not to startle them.
Esselles tried to sit up. Doing so caused considerable pain from numerous parts of his body. Looking himself over revealed a number of bruises and abrasions, the largest of which were on his left knee and his right elbow. He reached up to feel his scalp. There was a lot of dried blood on his forehead and his hair was matted with blood, some still damp.
Esselles heard a noise on the rocks above him and turned to look. A she-wolf was making her way down the slopes toward him, teeth bared. He edged his way from the pups. She corralled her young and nudged them back up the slope, occasionally turning to growl at Esselles.
Suddenly, her ears stood straight up and she sniffed the night air, staring to the south. She barked a hushed bark and raced up the slope, herding her children in front of her.
“Korgum watooz,” came a shout from down the beach. An arrow whistled through the air, missing the wolf.
Esselles lay down flat, trying his best to stay out of sight of the approaching uruks. Either he failed or they had known he was there, because they walked straight toward him.
The uruk in the lead kept his bow trained on Esselles as they approached. When he was twelve feet away, he stopped, allowing the second uruk to pass him. The second uruk, slightly larger and lighter skinned than the first, walked up to Esselles, sword drawn. He prodded Esselles with his sword. He then bent down and yanked on Esselles’ chains. Apparently satisfied they held, he continued on to the broken form of Belgar.
He bent over and rifled Belgar’s clothes, pocketing anything he found. He rolled him onto his stomach to look for more. When he was done, he walked back to Esselles.
“Who you?” he asked in broken Ostarian, the common language of the empire.
“Esselles Hawkblood,” he answered through clenched teeth.
“Why you chained?”
It took Esselles a moment to understand what the uruk had asked. “I am a prisoner.”
The uruk said something to his partner and they both laughed. “You right,” he said, turning back to Esselles. “You prisoner. My prisoner. Get up.”
Esselles tried to stand up, but grew instantly faint and collapsed to the ground, head spinning.
“I said get up,” the uruk said, jabbing Esselles with his sword for emphasis.
“I’m trying,” Esselles said, getting to his hands and knees. “I just fell down a cliff with a ball and shackles.”
“That not cliff,” the uruk said. “It steep hill. Most. Get up.”
Esselles tried to gain his feet again. It took him a while, but he managed, although his head was swimming and threatening to black out again.
There was a shout and some commotion at the top of the hill. The uruk looked up, his chin dropping slightly. His face turned to an expression of annoyance when an uruk leaned over the edge, waiving a bow and shouting.
The uruk barked a command to his companion who shouldered his bow and walked forward to help lead Esselles.
“We’ll walk this way and use the road,” the uruk said, pointing to the north with his sword.
When they had circled around to the top of the bluffs, Esselles saw what the commotion had been about. An uruk was busily skinning and gutting the she-wolf. He looked around for the pups, but didn’t see them anywhere. At least someone got away, he thought.
The uruk leader called to the five uruks gathered there. One hoisted the wolf carcass across its back and they set off inland. They took the horse but left the wagon behind as the path they were taking was ill suited for wagons. After traveling across a few miles of grasslands, they reached a small copse of woods and entered.
In the center was a crude cage made of wood. Inside were seven people, huddled into three separate groups. As they dragged Esselles forward, one of them, a large, heavily muscled young man, stood up and moved towards the front of the cage.
“Come here, you bastards. Let me get my hands on your necks,” he said, reaching through the bars of the cage.
One of Esselles’ uruk escorts picked up a thick stick that had been leaning against a tree and lashed the man until he retreated back into the cage. The uruks unlatched the door and threw Esselles inside. He staggered and tripped on his chains and fell against the far side of the cage. The sudden motion sent Esselles’ head spinning. He doubled up and began to retch. When the retching subsided, he sat back against the cage, exhausted and in pain.
He looked about at the faces of the other captives. Most were difficult to see as their heads hung down. Those he could see had the look of despair and defeat. Except for the large, burly man – his face had a look of defiance. He was seated in the cage again,
but he was watching his captors intently, clenching and opening his fists as he did so.
Sitting next to him was a thin female. Her delicate frame stood in stark contrast to the man she clung to. Long, curly brown hair fell out from the front of her hood. Beyond them huddled three individuals. They were all dressed in similar homespun garb. And in the corner sat the remaining two captives. An older female was sitting in the corner of the cage, her face drawn in shock. A younger male was sitting in front of her, holding her hand.
Esselles sat in frustration. He needed to get out of the cage and warn his friends. He didn’t know what Renamir and the demon were up to, but he knew it couldn’t be good. He thought about talking to the large man, but couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound stupid.
His body cried out for sleep, but he refused to give in to it. He knew he had probably suffered a concussion and should remain awake. So he began to examine the chains that bound him. He discovered that a number of the chain links were chinked – especially the large ring that connected the leg and arm chains to the lead ball’s chain. He gathered the chains and tried to pull on them to break the ring open but found he didn’t possess the strength thanks to his recent injuries. His left shoulder was still weak from the grishmagi assault and now his right elbow hurt from his fall down the incline.
He gave up and sat back against the wall of the cage, trying to figure out what it was Renamir and his demonic double could be up to.
*
Upon reaching Point Blank, Renamir dropped out of the saddle and slid down the horse’s side. He had trouble straightening his back. He handed the reins to the stable hand and walked into the Sunken Vessel inn. He called to the bartender for a mug of coffee.
“You look like shit,” the bartender said as he poured the cup.
“You have a way with customers,” Renamir shot back, testily.
Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1) Page 15
