On this occasion, however, the barbarian heard something else. A scuffle and something similar to a whimper came from over the closest hill. He squinted and peered into the thick foliage of the forest, trying to make out a shape to determine the cause of the disturbance.
The chief looked over to the closest watchtower, the sentry still at his post, paced back and forth. Perhaps I should call for assistance? he thought as his leg throbbed with a dull aching pain. It’s probably a thatcher rabbit. What will they think then? The mighty Thayne, Chief of Thornmount, startled by a rodent.
There it was again. The barbarian took a few steps closer to the forest and away from the protection and light of the village barricade.
What sort of beast is that? he wondered. It sounded like something was being dragged along the forest floor. Then he heard another sound, one that made his blood run cold.
It was not quite a cry or a screech, a yell, or a shout. It was like a whisper combined with the shriek of metal swords as the blades grinded against each other.
Are those words? What creature speaks in such a tongue? he asked as his mind searched for something familiar, some logical conclusion.
Thayne scaled the hill with the help of a small branch he picked up to use as a walking stick. Once he crested the top he took a step to descend the other side. His weak leg failed, and the strength and the support of the braces could not sustain his weight and balance. The huge barbarian tumbled down the hillside until he crashed into some thick ferns near the bottom.
As he sat up he saw a trail of blue light pass a few paces in front of him. He shook his head and wiped dirt and mud from his brow. The same haunting whispers echoed through the trees again, but much closer than before.
The chief pulled back one of the fern fronds and his face turned a ghostly pale white.
Standing in front of him, devouring a shredded elk carcass, was the dark figure of Jiro the Shade Wolf. But the wolf looked like it had been ripped from the afterlife, its black fur rippling and surging with blue flame-shaped lights. It looked like torrents of electrical storms were trapped behind the lenses of his eyes. As it opened its mouth, sparks of lightning sprang forth.
“Magnus?” asked the barbarian.
Jiro snapped his head around, snarling and heaving at the intrusion. He let out a ghastly howl, a terrifying mix of pain and anger.
Thayne reached for his dagger… as two more spectral wolves pierced through the foliage and raced toward the barbarian.
They’re here for me! A curse, a vengeance because of my sins, he thought as he unsheathed his weapon.
****
The house-take from the wager tables was impressive, especially considering how the evening had teetered on the edge of becoming a complete disaster.
Was it luck? Fate? Or perhaps none of that at all? thought the Warden as he supervised the counting of the coin. He was armed with dagger, sword, poisons, and a few hidden weapons just in case things went awry. As dangerous as an angry crowd could be, he was more nervous about collecting and counting the coin.
Coin has a strange effect on man, he thought. Logic and reason dissolve in an instant should the snare of greed take hold. Don’t trust a soul when it comes to coin, I always say.
Two armed guards stood at the door and another one at the back of the room. The Warden had insisted in finding a discreet place near the outskirts of town, not far from the arena.
“Pockets tend to have new holes on the road, and coin disappears,” he told his entourage of servants, clerks, and guards. “Should even one be missing upon our return to camp, I will take it from your pay… or your miserable hides.”
A hearty knock at the door brought everyone to attention and hands to hilts. One of the guards opened the door, mumbled a few statements and then gave way.
Kitra, Sindas and Dor’van all entered, lowering their hoods as they walked up to The Warden.
“Ah, my lady. I mean, General. I wondered if your network of spies and snitches would inform you of our little gathering this evening,” said the Warden, smothering each word with charm.
The war maiden did not look pleased, but in far better spirits when last they spoke. Of course, that could change with a few threats, demands, or hasty show of force.
“I shouldn’t be too surprised to find you in Dravenclaw. Your kind of town,” said Kitra as she removed her leather gloves. “I hear you travel with an elf now. Where is your little magic-user?” she asked as she raised an eyebrow.
The Warden hated how she knew so much about him. The fact that she knew where to find him, especially as he counted coin, made him most uncomfortable. She had the upper hand on this occasion as he hadn’t planned on so soon a visit.
“Yes. But I’m afraid he’s detained for the moment. He has a fondness for the beasts, you see. But I assure you, his presence in no way hinders our agreement,” said the Warden.
The hunter knew the Storm Elf was probably chopping up the remains of the bears even as he spoke, digging for whatever disgusting ingredients he needed for his magic spells and potions.
“Perhaps I’ll meet him another time. But that’s not why I came. Putting Kelor in with two grizzlies was not exactly prudent. A rash and foolish decision,” said the war maiden as she stared down the Warden. “I didn’t pay you all that coin just to have him ended in his first contest.”
The Warden cleared his throat to prevent himself from cursing her. “I assure you, General …Kelor was in no real danger. Your instructions were quite clear, but if you want the product you requested, it will have to be done my way,” he retorted.
“And what does that mean? Your way?” she asked.
The host gave a quick smile. “It means I have to break him first. Like I’ve said before, their race is remarkably willful. If I can’t bend his will, he’ll be of no worth to you or anyone else.”
“Kelor won’t be of any worth if he’s deceased or badly wounded either,” Kitra shot back.
The Warden walked straight to Kitra. “If you are unhappy with my work, you can take him now. I’ll even refund your coin… prorated of course for expenses and days spent training the beast. But the cat’s all yours if you wish it.” He turned and walked back to his original position behind the counting table.
“I’ll wager you’ll get a ways outside of Dravenclaw before he rips your throat out,” he added with his sinister grin. “But then again, perhaps he won’t.”
How I hate this man! thought Kitra.
“That won’t be necessary. But know this… I am watching.”
“I would expect nothing less,” he said with a bow. “Did you enjoy the rest of the tournament, my lady?”
“I came only to see, Kelor. The rest of your twisted games are of no concern to me.” Kitra turned to leave, she had said what she wanted and had made her presence known.
Sindas opened the door for her, but before she exited, the Warden tossed her a bag of coin.
“What’s this?” she asked in confusion as she caught the bag.
“Your percentage of Kelor’s winnings. Trust me, they’ll be plenty more in the days to come,” the Warden and then smiled again.
Kitra finally smiled back. She clenched the bag of coin, gave The Warden a nod and left.
She’s actually quite attractive… when her veins aren’t full of poison, thought The Warden and then he chuckled. But where’s the fun in that?
CHAPTER 23
“The mutt lives.” Kelor chided Magnus as the servants led him back into the tent.
The wolf had several bandages packed onto his wounds. They were wrapped with healing salves and gauze. He had a slight limp, but for the most part looked whole.
The cage door slammed shut behind the Shade Wolf and the slaves exited the tent.
“I thought for sure you had passed away from fright after the battle,” Kelor said sarcastically. “Glad to see you managed to pull through.”
“Leave him alone, Kelor. He’s done nothing to earn your contempt,” said Dox, stil
l chained to the tent pole and sitting on the ground.
Kelor snarled at the Minotaur. “Oh yes he has. He was an embarrassment out there. Lucky at all to be alive. Please… Shade Wolf? Terror of the Mythik Forest? The only terror in the arena tonight was me. That and the look in Magnus eyes. I’m surprised the mutt didn’t wet himself in front of the entire crowd. At least that would have been entertaining!”
The cat laughed as he watched Magnus circle his enclosure until finding the spot where he wanted to lie down. The panther looked over at Magnus, hoping for a response of some kind. Instead, the wolf took a deep breath and stared at nothing in particular.
Before Kelor could continue his derision of the wolf, another band of servants entered, dragging the lumberjack in chains. In the arena, he had not suffered a single blow, but as they drug him by his cage, Kelor could see the many bruises, bumps, and cuts on the human’s face, ribs, and shoulders. Someone had worked him over pretty good, a lesson behind closed doors, and the panther could only guess who the teacher must have been.
The servants unlocked a hanging bird cage and hoisted the lumberjack into it. The cage was suspended some three paces off the floor, away from any other object, crate, or cage, thus isolating the captive and making escape next to impossible.
As the servants left, the lumberjack slid his legs through the cage bars, which were just wide enough to allow his legs and feet dangle in the air. He leaned forward, his face pressing against the bars, his hands in front of him and wrapped around the bars.
The human breathed a long sigh. “Well that was jolly fun, wasn’t it boys?” said the lumberjack as he cleared his throat before spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor.
All eyes turned to him.
“Are you mad?” asked Kelor. “A tournament that could be the end of us all, and you call that amusing?”
“We all made it out, didn’t we? I’d say that’s a good end to any day,” the human said with a smile.
Underneath the cuts, bruises, and dirt the lumberjack was a handsome man. He had dark hair, dark brown eyes, and bronze-colored skin. Though somewhat rugged in appearance, he spoke clearly and articulated his words with care. He was a contrast of sorts – rough yet refined.
“Easy for you to say… you did nothing. Much like Magnus over there,” said Kelor as he motioned to the wolf.
“Magnus is it? Is that your name, wolf?” asked the lumberjack, ignoring Kelor’s barbs.
The wolf nodded.
“I must say, Magnus, I was quite impressed with you out there. Well done,” said the human, much to Kelor’s surprise.
“What?” asked the cat. “You’re not only mad, you’re blind. Were you not in the arena with the mutt? Did you not see the spectacle everyone else saw?”
“Indeed I did,” answered the lumberjack.
“He ran around like a scared pup with his tail between his legs. Remember that?”
“I thought it was brilliant…,” said the human.
Totally perplexed, Kelor could only shake his head.
“…the way he lulled them into a false confidence. How he probed and studied their tactics. Yes… quite clever. Then using their own weapons against them… pure brilliance,” said the lumberjack.
The cat began coughing, hacking up a giant hair ball as if in protest. He could hardly believe the lumberjack’s nonsense. “Perhaps you’ve taken one too many blows to the head, human. Your wits have left you.”
“A fair conclusion, I wouldn’t argue that,” said the lumberjack as he rubbed his sore forehead and temple. “But I also know skill and talent when I see it.”
“Is that so?” argued Kelor.
The human had had enough of the cat’s attitude. “The wolf was outnumbered by three enemies, all much larger than he. Two of them armed, and yet he was victorious without delivering a single bite. I doubt you could accomplish the same results, cub.”
Kelor growled at the human. “I fought two bears and didn’t suffer a single scratch! The mutt can barely walk!”
“What you fought were two enemies that attacked so slow, so deliberate that a new-born corgan could have dodged their blows. Besides, they were probably drugged with syrras plant extract, or something similar, and would have dropped dead anyway,” said the lumberjack as he examined one of the wounds on his shoulder.
“How do you know such things? I won because of my strength, because of my claws!” Kelor said, growing more and more agitated.
“Perhaps you didn’t notice the foam dripping from their mouths. The dazed look in their eyes. Syrras plant. No question. I’d wager on it… and win,” answered the human.
“Liar. I won without tricks…” he said as he looked over at Magnus. “…or luck.”
“If you say so. Though I would suggest being more observant of your opponent on the next occasion, instead of swinging wildly like a blinded Ghast Gorilla,” said the human. “Your next enemy may not run straight into your claws.”
The young panther stood up, his hackles raised as his anger surged. But before he could respond, the Minotaur interrupted.
“How do you know such things, human? What is your profession? A soldier in the army of Cordale, perhaps?” asked Dox.
Curious, the cat settled down for the moment.
“Yes, you could say I am a soldier of sorts, but not for Cordale. I fight for a much higher cause. A more profound crusade, you could say.” He now had their attention, including Magnus. “My name is Navarro zer’Gorza delo Repente al Contesta. But you may call me Navarro if you wish.”
“You ever pull something like that again and I’ll end you myself!” shouted the Warden as he stormed into the holding tent and interrupted the lumberjack’s introduction. Everyone in the tent assumed the threat was intended for Navarro, but not for long.
The Warden marched up to Kelor’s cage and banged on one of the metal bars with the scabbard of his rapier sword. He glared into the enclosure and stared down the panther.
“What are you talking about? You told me I had to fight… I did that,” said Kelor, refusing to give in or cower. “Now you don’t want me to fight?” the cat asked.
“It was over as quick as it began! They don’t pay good coin for a fight over in matter of moments. They want battles, epic struggles, shows of strength and will. Not a couple of swipes and a growl!”
“Then perhaps you should find more challenging opponents for the cat,” offered the lumberjack with a smirk.
The Warden whipped around to face Navarro, pointing his sword in his direction.
“And who would that be, you?” asked the Warden. “You may have been something once, but that was long ago and your name is worthless now. I bought you for next to nothing, but I will profit from your passing… but at my choosing, not yours!”
Dox laughed at the Warden’s threats. “You speak as if you were one of the gods, with life and death in your hands.”
The captor looked down at the beast-man, confined by his thick, iron shackles.
“That’s exactly what I am. Your miserable lives are granted another day or a quick passing… all based on my wishes. Nothing more. And don’t think for a moment I’ve forgotten about you, Dox, my one-horned mindless Minotaur. Your end is not far off, nor is the coin that will come from it,” said the Warden.
He then turned to address them all. “We leave for The Shales in the morning. I warn you, the crowd demands battles, and we will give them what they want. Fail me again and you will find yourself at the bottom of Lake Halmar.”
The Warden took one last look at Kelor and then left.
The group looked at each other, not quite sure what to say or do.
“Well, I know how to swim, anyone else? Wolf, you probably do,” said Navarro with a grin.
Kelor and Dox did not respond, but their hesitancy provided the answer anyway.
“Well, than I guess we play along… at least for a while,” the lumberjack said, as if talking to himself.
“Who are you?” asked Dox. “The Warde
n mentioned you have a proud name.”
“Who cares,” Kelor said.
Navarro shrugged off the cat’s barb and continued the conversation where they left it before The Warden interrupted.
“I am a provocateur of proverbs, a swordsman of song, a lethal leviathan of lyrics,” he said in a well rehearsed statement. He looked around the tent but only saw blank and confused stares.
“A wooer of women with words. A mage of myths and maidens. A rebel armed only with tongue and tunes.” He extended his hand as if speaking to a crowd of thousands, not three captive beasts.
“What?” asked Kelor, who was completely lost.
“You know. A bard. A minstrel. Troubadour. Vocalist. An artist and musician in one handsome package,” said Navarro, anticipating that his message finally got through.
Magnus shrugged; Kelor said nothing, his jaw slightly agape; and Dox appeared to doze off.
Navarro sighed. “I sing songs and people pay me money, okay?” he said in defeat.
“That’s it?” asked Kelor. “I’m going to sleep.”
“Mock me if you wish, but I have played before kings and queens. I’ve entertained chiefs and lords. I know things. Lots of things. Secrets and confessions, revelations and discoveries from the most powerful and dangerous beings in all of Illyia.”
“Then what are you doing here?” asked Dox.
The bard again pressed his forehead against the bars of his cage. He looked down as he spoke. “Love,” he said with exasperation.
“Now I really am going to sleep,” said Kelor as he curled up into a furry ball.
“Love? What do you mean?” the question came from Magnus. The wolf sat onto his haunches, and his pointed ears perked up as he looked at Navarro.
The musician was pleased to know he had at least one interested listener. He returned the wolf’s gaze.
Kelor, on the other hand, licked his chops, yawned, and closed his eyes.
“There was a fair maiden who lived in a land a great distance from this awful place. Her eyes were radiant, like the sun-drenched waters in the Ocean of Tears. Hair, like the finest silk…,” Navarro said with panache.
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