He might not believe in himself, but Ivy did. Wasn't that reason enough for him to be the goliath he always should have been? In control of his passions, emotions, and mind. Able to make the proper decisions in the best interests of his people, regardless of whether or not they benefited him.
Now was the time for change. Now they had to accept him. All parts of him. If they did not, he could not be their golock. They deserved better. He deserved better.
"Peace!" Lukor barked.
The goliaths and goliathas silenced, although a few more snarls and shoves were given.
Granting them the power to decide had been a colossal mistake. Gremma was right. He had to prove to them he was a capable leader. The only way to save face was to convince them to do what he wanted while making them believe the power remained in their hands.
"The twenty troll weapons we recovered from the battlefield might be enchanted. They might not be. Mayhap only the five elven ones are. We know the elves are helping the trolls. To destroy the barbarians? Perhaps. To try to provoke the so called "lesser" races into fighting and war and chaos until none live? More likely."
"To go against the elves is foolish," a goliatha cried out.
"They are cunning and tricksters, but they are not as skilled with a blade as we are. Yet I do think that going after the elves is not wise. At least not now." Lukor waited a moment, and the goliatha nodded. "There is also our homeland. Should we go there and bolster our own defenses as the barbarians are doing? What if the trolls decide to attack us next?"
"Sit around and wait?" a goliath scoffed.
"Attacking the trolls is yet another option, of course," Lukor added.
"The final one!" another goliath yelled.
A chorus of yells, mostly agreements, broke out.
"Not quite," Lukor disagreed. "If a few other goliaths and I were to go and seek out the new skuleader, for I am sure they have a new one already..."
Although it would be so nice if the trolls fought amongst themselves, Lukor knew they could not assume that. Assumptions meant death in this world, painful deaths.
"We could perhaps talk and learn what the elves have promised them," he finished.
The goliath pushed his way to the front and beat his strong chest. "That is rash and—"
"The rest of the goliaths and goliathas here would not be far and would be able to engage in battle at a moment's notice."
The goliath stroked his long, braided black beard before slowly nodding.
The other goliaths rallied such a loud roar of agreement that Lukor's ears rang for minutes afterward as they marched on. A few hours later, they reached the outermost ridge of the Land of the Skull — a desolate place with black twisted trees that grabbed onto passersby and squeezed until their blood excreted from every orifice. Some believed the Essence Trees had adapted and did not need sunlight to grow, only the blood they demanded from those foolish enough to trek too close. Skulls and bones from those less fortunate rested within the gnarled black roots of the closest trees.
"Stay here," Lukor commanded. He stripped himself of every weapon, even his concealed ones. The display of utter trust of the new troll leader had to be believable. After all, he had murdered the last skuleader.
Draggar handed Lukor the previous skuleader's head.
The golock accepted it. "You will come with me. And Golic." His gaze passed over Darcia. She did not look displeased. Smart goliatha. She was pushing her body as she marched. A few more days of rest, and she would be fit and better than ever, ready to slice into trolls, or anyone who dared to cross her wrongly.
To Darcia's right stood Karrina. Head held high but chin lowered, she was whispering to Varo.
Lukor eased through a few goliaths to reach them. "Varo, care to venture on this mission with me?"
Karrina patted her goliath's chest. "He will serve you well."
"That I know." Otherwise, he never would have suggested it. Lukor had learned a long time ago 'twas best to keep enemies where you could see them at all times. 'Twas why he had embarked on the trek with Ivy so long ago.
"I will follow you." Varo handed his assortment of weapons to Karrina.
Lukor refrained from tightening his fists. Most goliaths would have added gladly at the end of the expression. 'Twas a sign of respect and fealty. Varo omitting it did not shock Lukor, but it did alarm him.
The golock rushed to Golic's side. "Watch him at all times." He nodded to Varo, who now stood only a foot from them.
Four goliaths. A small enough group that the trolls would not feel threatened by their presence, or so Lukor hoped.
The trio flanked Lukor as he bowed at the waist to his goliaths and goliathas. After a moment, all of them, including Karrian, knelt down, heads lowered. The solidarity of the movement, the meaning behind it, moved Lukor. He would succeed in this venture. He had too.
The quartet of goliaths left, marching as one with Lukor in the lead. The dark grit that covered the land flew up, coating their boots and legs, particles dancing on the strong breeze to land in their mouths and eyes.
The Essence Trees grew closer together as they stalked toward the stronghold, and they had to walk in a line to avoid the long branches reaching toward them. The howling of the wind whistled through the thin black trees, a faint voice or two within it. Lukor held up a hand to halt their progression. Listening intently, he could hear cries for help on the wind.
"I've been here before," Draggar spoke up, his voice lower than a whisper, but harsh and powerful. "How I gained this." He gestured violently toward the long pink scar that marred his forest green flesh. From his forehead, down his cheek, over the left eyelid, the wound had claimed his eye, but had not made Draggar any less of a warrior. "Those voices aren't real. It's a trick. An illusion."
Lukor listened more. The voices were both female, too faint at first for him to recognize, but then his heart squeezed. Ivy. And Lucia.
Lucia's dead. No one can harm her now. And Ivy is more than capable of handling whatever may come her way. Ivy would never call out for help like this. She was too stubborn and strong for that nonsense.
"Come," Lukor demanded, although he did not blame Golic and Varo for looking behind them with longing faces. "Your loved ones are fine." He eyed Golic curiously, wondering which goliatha had claimed his heart, or if he heard Lucia as well, but now was not the time for love, but war.
As they advanced, Lukor ignored the wind, even as it nipped against them, bitterly cold, so fierce it forced them back at times. The voices were now shouts of agony and terror, not just of Ivy and Lucia, but everyone he had ever cared about.
That no trolls came to meet them, whether with words or weapons, surprised Lukor, but then his wonder transformed into dread. What if they had only pretended to flee, to draw the goliaths away, and were already engaging the barbarians into battle? What if Ivy was already dead?
No. He couldn't believe that.
Over a slight hill in the grit sand, they stared down upon eight-foot tall Essence Trees, all within feet of each other, far too close for any to be able to venture through safely.
"How do we get past this?" Varo directed his question to Draggar.
Lukor ignored the slight, for he too did not know the answer and appreciated any advice the thirty-something goliath could provide.
"We never got anywhere near this close." Draggar hung his head, his eyes haunted. "I was the only one of the group to survive. A scouting expedition, to see why the trolls were butting against the barbarians so much. We were ambushed much farther away."
Walking parallel to the trees, far enough away that the long branches could not reach him, Lukor mused, "There is no gap. The trolls must have a way to get around them."
"Or over them." Golic glanced up, and Lukor did too. Not one bird or flying creature had soared overhead since they had ventured into this depressing place.
"Or perhaps under. After all, they are part dwarves." Lukor continued his trek parallel to the Essence Trees. One branch ca
me dangerously close to him. He jerked back, the grit beneath his feet falling away. With ease, he captured his balance before he could fall. A kick of the grit sent some sand flying, only a portion of the sand disappeared, the air shimmering around it. "Did you see that?"
The other goliaths rushed over, and Lukor repeated his kick. To the left and right, the sand billowed about, but directly ahead, the sand disappeared.
Draggar produced a stone from within his clothes, and that too vanished. The black goliath grinned viciously, his teeth as sharp as knifes. "All of you stand back. I'll go through first."
Before Lukor could blink, the forest and lime green goliath ran through the shimmering part of the air and promptly disappeared. The golock held his breath, but no sign of the other goliath was found, for good or for ill.
After a long moment, only Draggar's head came back. "Come, let's go."
Varo went first, then Lukor, followed by Golic. The shimmering air was blinding hot at first before turning so cold Lukor thought he would turn into an ice block. The air felt strangely heavy, as if he was swimming in lieu of walking. It was hard to see against the brightness of the shimmer, but it abruptly ended, taking the coldness with it.
They had crossed the line of Essence Trees and now stood three feet from the bone drawbridge of Skull Stronghold. Few bones lay scattered in the ruined field before them, perhaps blown from the bridge by the fierce wind.
"It looks like a graveyard," Golic muttered.
"I don't like the look of it," Varo admitted.
"Especially without weapons." Draggar crossed his arms, his biceps bulging.
"It is not our comfort we are striving for, but theirs." Lukor strolled down the trollish drawbridge. Bones chipped and cracked beneath his feet, but he did not slow his pace. He was here on a mission.
He must succeed.
Nightmares and dreams she could not recalled ruined and haunted the few hours of sleep Ivy had the rest of the night. Ill at ease and fatigued, she stole a moment or two of stillness in the day's earliest moments to try to calm herself. Focusing on her fear only made her more agitated. Fueling her uncertainty at least energized her. Feeling her love and giving into it gave her a measure of something akin to peace.
Brandishing her longsword also helped to facilitate any lingering sense of strife, and she stood tall, welcoming the feel of her muscles tightening as she held the heavy weapon. A few quick jabs and strikes against an imaginary foe, and she was ready to face this new day as barbaroness.
She had not felt more accepting of her role.
Whether or not her people felt the same did not matter. She was their barbaroness. They would do as she bade them.
A few gestures were all they needed to fall in line behind her. By the time the violet sun had reached its apex, they had abandoned the stifling desert and entered the bleak wasteland. In the far distance lay their goal: the Blood Stones. Ivy had never seen this land before, only its name drawn on maps.
"Have any of you ever patrolled out this far?" Ivy asked, her voice not carrying far on the still, heavy air.
Katar stiffened.
Curious, she glanced over at him then Glaive on her left.
"Steel is the last barbarian to have ventured so far from home," the overly muscular barbarian said. He blew air up, billowing some of his longish blue-black hair from his face, highlighting his sorrowful eyes.
Ivy swallowed, the saliva plopping in her stomach like a rock.
"He had to be killed for what he did," Helm spoke up, sounding somewhat cheerful and unlike his normally stoic outlook.
The other barbarians snarled in agreement, and Ivy smiled, appreciating their acceptance at least on that act of her reign. Any who dared to touch her in such a manner, who strove to separate her from Lukor, would share Steel's fate.
Large bushes of various shades of gray dotted the landscape. Colorful berries punctuated the dreariness, and Ivy's mouth watered. None of them dared to even come close to the fruit. Most likely anything beautiful in this land was poisonous, if not deadly.
Her throat grew parched, each swallow grating against the tightness. One hand held up, and the barbarians halted. Dried meat from their pouches made for a welcome meal, if a bit worse for their throats. After a swig of water each, they pressed on.
No wonder the dwarves had chosen such a wretched place to relocate too. No one would willingly travel through this land.
Up ahead, one of the bushes rustled. Ivy held up her sword as an animal tumbled out. A vicious goat, chamois had the ability to make a person see their worst fears before plunging their three sword-like horns into their victim's hearts.
"'Tis only a baby." The tallest barbarian stepped forward, a javelin cocked back in his arm to throw.
Ivy lowered his hand. "Which means its mother is nearby. They travel in packs, do they not?"
The barbarian grunted, but Helm nodded. "Our barbaroness speaks the truth. But it has seen us. I am not sure what our best course is."
The chamois was watching them intently, with almost intelligent eyes. If this large size was a baby, she did not wish to see a grown one.
"Let us go. If it follows or poses a threat, we will deal with it then."
Several of the barbarians grimaced, and Ivy did not blame them. It felt too much like giving up to not put up a fight.
The animal crept along behind them, and Ivy slipped toward the back of their progression. Soon, she stood beside the animal. "Have you lost your way?" she murmured so softly that the closest barbarians did not stir.
The chamois bleeted. Its dark eyes pierced her soul with sadness before narrowing with anger. It raised onto its hind legs, and Ivy reacted, shoving her sword into its chest.
More bleeting sounded, wild and savage, and chamois from every direction bore down on them. Every barbarian moved into offensive stances and attacked.
Everything had happened too quickly when Ivy had killed the first, but with the second, as soon as her blade cut into its flesh, a mental picture of a bloodied, dead Lukor came to mind, so real she could smell him, could feel his soft hair in her hands, the curve of his neck against her cheek as she sobbed.
She withdrew her blade, and the vision ceased, only to be replaced with her mother within the whispery Spirit Realm, turning her back on Ivy and disappearing, her haunting words parting them: "You have failed your people. You have failed me."
"I will not!" Ivy screamed, her throat ravaged. She coughed up blood, almost gagging on it.
The other barbarians were faring no better against the chamois, tears streaming down their faces, too, as they hacked and slew. Ivy rejoined them in battle, trying desperately to cling to the thought of how wrong it was for fierce and powerful creatures such as themselves to be moved to tears by mental images thrust upon them by wild goats. But they were partially human, fragile despite their strengths, and everyone had weaknesses and fears.
More images came to Ivy now, and faster too: each of the other ninety-seven barbarians dying grotesque and horrific deaths, each shrieking out curses to her with their last breaths, followed by countless images of their world surviving without the barbarian race. The enormity of the loss of their race weighed so heavily on her that Ivy fell to her knees, out of breath, the tip of her longsword burrowed into the wasteland, her arm hooked around the hilt.
Out of nowhere, the swordish horns of a chamois bore down on her. Ivy watched as if in suspended time as the horn neared, aimed for her chest. Her hand shot up swiftly, and she grabbed and yanked and twisted until the horn snapped off. Blood spurted from the wound, and Ivy shoved the horn straight into its owner's chest. The chamois crumbled at her feet.
Ivy slowly climbed to her feet and straightened her skirt. Lukor would mention how much blood is on me. Her neck and hands were coated, a thin trail down her armored plate, but the skirt was mostly unblemished save for dirt from the wasteland ground.
The last two chamois fell, and the barbarians retrieved their weapons. Only one — the brute who had c
ommented on the original's size — had been injured, non-fatally Ivy was pleased to see. Perhaps she should not have engaged the chamois in conversation, but she had a feeling the beast would have attacked eventually, and she had not been pleased to be followed. An enemy from behind was much more dangerous than the one, or even two, staring you down in the face.
With so many heavy bodies, it was impossible to get an accurate count of the chamois killed, especially considering some had been hacked into pieces.
Ivy tore off a branch from the nearest bush and manipulated a fire from it. She tossed the burning branch onto the fire.
Katar flashed her a rare smile, and her heart ached. The barbarian used to always have a grin for her and his sister. That she still had a reason to smile while he did not felt wrong.
"You do not wish for any animal who scavengers their bodies to undergo the torture we just experienced," he said, his voice low, his eyes rueful.
She touched his steel-covered shoulder. "We can never let out fears guide us. We are barbarians. We are strong. We preserve." The other barbarians encircled them as she added, "We survive."
One at a time, each of the barbarians reached in their right hand, one on top of the other. Ivy did last, with both hands. "We survive!" they shouted as one, their voices somehow echoing throughout the wasteland, repeating strong and forceful, than gradually softer but still just as fierce.
Ivy grinned viciously. "Let us hope nothing else is as foolish as those chamois were."
For several more hours, they traveled. Without a source of running water nearby, they had to wait until the blood and sweat from their bodies flaked off. A sudden gust of wind helped, carrying upon it specks of their dried blood. The red flecks danced eerily, a morbid display of how timeless wind was, and by extension, the world, while they were finite and one day would return to dust.
But not today.
That night, clouds covered one of the moons, and the lack of light blanketed the world in too much darkness for them to continue. Helmn pointed out a circle of bushes wide enough for them to all sleep comfortably within, but Ivy decided against it. When Glaive asked why, she simply said, "It strikes me as off."
Bloodlust Page 22
