by H. A. Harvey
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Autumn kept pulling away, but wasn’t any match for his strength. “Nian! Let me go!”
The note of fear in Autumn’s voice as she said his name stung him, and Nian released his hold quickly. The Dryad tumbled back onto the path, her legs obviously still numb from being pinned. Nian shook his head and rubbed his eyes with the palm of one hand. The sensation seemed to subside, and the throbbing returned to his wounds. Autumn stood carefully again.
“S-sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Nian stammered. “I just wanted to be sure you were alright.”
“It’s alright. Thank you.” Autumn sounded at ease again, but Nian couldn’t help noting that she kept at a distance. She looked around, “We need to find Xain.”
Nian nodded, still trying to wrap his head around what just happened. They picked their way through the rubble. They found Xian lying near the other side of the collapse, half buried in rubble. The Dwarf was breathing, but unconscious. Part of the rockslide had left a long gash along the side of Xain’s brow from just over his nose across to hover over his right ear. Nian dug in his belt pouch for Kadia’s cloth, but realized he’d never gotten it back from Riona. He tore the ruined sleeve from his wounded arm and knelt to bandage Xain’s head. Autumn joined Nian and took over binding the wound.
“You’ve got one good hand. I can do this.” Autumn said softly, “Go down and see if you can find the others.”
Nian paused. Finding Autumn pinned had somehow wiped out any other thoughts beside getting her free. He nodded and went to rise, but the Dryad caught him by the hand. She squeezed his hand briefly.
“Thank you again, Nain.” She whispered, “Be careful.”
Nian worked his way down the path to the valley floor. The cliff’s shadow reached out into the lowlands and melded with the deep black of the forest canopy. The light from the relic blade lit out to a stone’s throw in every direction. With everything bathed in the swimming blue light, the woods seemed to be some strange ghost-scape. He followed the cliff back under the pathway until he began to find rubble and picked his way along its edge.
“Nian.” Kaesa’s voice drifted through the dark from out in the woods. “Over here”
Nian turned and made his way in the direction of the Njord’s voice. He had only walked a short way into the trees before his eye caught the watery light reflecting from what looked like a skull. Remembering the starlight’s effect on Kaesa’s helm, he turned towards it. The helmet drew into view sitting on the side of a hill. A few more steps revealed Kaesa sitting on the ground next to Amalthea. Nian hurried over to the two women.
Kaesa’s armor was badly battered, the fur of her cloak was matted with stone dust and dirt. Her right leg lay at an awkward angle as she sat at the Goblin’s side, holding her hand. Amalthea lay on her back and her normally smooth skin was pulled tight over cable-like muscles. Her left arm was little more than a mass of shredded flesh. As Nian drew close, Amalthea looked over, even in the tinted light, he could see that her eyes, normally a soft lavender hue, had taken on a red tint.
“There you are,” Amalthea murmured, her bloody teeth making her smile of razors even more disturbing than normal. “I w-was getting bored.”
“She crawled dis far before I reach her.” Kaesa explained.
Nian knelt next to the Goblin’s shoulder, barely noticing the tugging pain from his thigh. He started to pull his belt free to tie off her arm, but was given pause when Amalthea released Kaesa’s hand to reach over and touch him.
“Don’t bother, softie.” Amalthea let out a small, coughing laugh, “I’m already dead. I can feel my insides are all crunched up. Once Warbringer fades, I will too.”
Nian sat in silence. He almost asked if it hurt, but reminded himself how ridiculous that question would be. Not only had she just finished telling him that pain wasn’t the same for her, but even if she were a Human, it would seem a thoughtless question. He reminded himself that if she were anything but Orcish, she probably wouldn’t have lingered long enough for either of them to say anything.
“Is there anything we can do, Thea?” He finally asked quietly.
Amalthea shook her head stiffly, then paused and looked at Nian. “M-maybe. If you can help it, don’t leave me just anywhere. I wanna be somewhere pretty, that someone might put in a picture someday.”
Nian nodded, “Of course.”
Nian shifted down to a seated position. He lifted Amalthea’s head and shoulders and rested them in his lap. He had to put the sword away, but he figured the others could see well enough. He sat in silence and stroked the Goblin’s head gently. She was looking at him. The red of her eyes had a muted glow that would normally be too subtle to see, but in the deep shadows of the trees Nian’s gaze fixated on them. Their gazes remained locked, having some unspoken conversation for the next several minutes until the glow of Amalthea’s eyes finally faded into darkness.
13
The Brogan Vale
Rowan wasn’t certain where he was, but he lay on something cool and soft. After a moment, he felt the tickle of cool fibers against his sides. That’s it, grass, he was laying on grass. Rowan slowly forced his eyes open. It felt like they had lead weights tethered to them. Wherever he was, it was bright. He had to squeeze his eyes shut against the glare. He tried to sit up without success, then just to lift a limb. His arm was numb and tingly, but it slowly lifted off the turf. A soft hand took his and gently pressed it back down. A gentle voice echoed in his ears, but he could discern no real words. Rowan braved the light again, only opening his eyes a slit this time. He could just make out the silhouette of a slender, feminine jaw framed by smooth, golden hair that shone in Phoenix’ light.
“Elly?” Rowan croaked hoarsely. His throat felt like he had been swallowing sand.
“It’s Riona, Rowan.” The voice answered patiently and slowly, Rowan connected the voice to memory. “Take it slow. You’ve not moved for two days. David and I got you to swallow what water we could.”
“Two days?”
Rowan tried to dredge up the last thing he remembered, but everything was a blur. He recalled burying Kolel and Adair, but little beyond that. He worked at sitting up again, and Riona seemed to decide it would be more successful to help prop him up than fight to keep him down. Rowan clung gratefully to Riona’s shoulders and tried to gain stock of his surroundings as his eyes slowly adjusted to the daylight.
They were resting in the shade of a stand of small aspen trees. A short way off, David stood in a clearing, feeding an armful of fruit to Tombo and Gatefyre. Rowan flexed his thigh to test how his wound was healing. It was sore, but seemed to be mending well. He let his gaze drift up the trunk of a nearby sycamore tree. To his surprise, a pair of eyes met his gaze from the first fork in the tree.
The tree gave a snort, and the eyes lifted up to reveal they belonged to a furry head nearly the same shade of the tree’s bark. Streaks of white fur ran in pairs along each cheek of the creature’s sharp, badger-like features. The brogan hefted over the crotch of the tree and dropped the twenty feet to the ground. The broad, squat creature stood only about three feet in height and about as broad. Long, knotted braids of hair hung down all sides of the beast’s head, trailing nearly to its ankles. Its arms and legs ended in rounded paws with wicked-looking, hooked claws the size of fishing knives. Rowan tried to struggle to his feet but the rubbery numbness in his limbs foiled him and he stumbled back onto the ground. The brogan gave a derisive snort and waddled into the trees.
“Rowan, relax.” Riona laughed as she helped him to his feet and steadied him, “That’s Old Paula . . . at least I call her that. She’s been watching us for a few hours. She’s probably going to tell the others you’re awake.”
“Paula?” Rowan blinked. “How do you know it’s not a he?”
“Ah, she reminds me of the magistrate’s wife, back home, with the way she waddles.” Rion
a shrugged, “They don’t have names that I can tell, they don’t even talk to each other, so I picked some for the ones I can tell apart. Oh, and they wear decorations, but no real clothes. Telling is . . . it’s not so difficult.”
Rowan shook his head, “This doesn’t make sense. Brogan kill anyone that goes into their lands, most figure they eat them.”
“That might be true.” Riona laughed again, though a little nervously this time, “They don’t seem to like us much. But they love your monkey.”
“Tombo?” Rowan’s confusion wasn’t lessening, “He’s an ap-nevermind, what do you mean?”
“I don’t know all of it,” Riona answered, “I was asleep when they took us, but David said they tackled him, and one almost started to eat me, then Wobbly showed up and stopped them.”
“Wobbly?”
“Ah, you’ll see. Anyway, after that, David said they carried us all off. They keep bringin’ him all kinds of fruits an’ stuff, and every now and then I see one with little wooden carvings that look like him.”
Rowan paused and tried out standing on his own. His leg still complained a little, but the life seemed to be returning to his limbs quick enough. His eyes fell on the blade hanging on Riona’s hips. He looked back at David, already on his way over. David wore his sword as well, and had Rowan’s spear hanging on his back.
“They didn’t take our weapons?”
“They did, but they gave them back. That was a little after I woke up, day before yesterday. They let us keep everything . . . except Kolel’s dewdrops. They seemed to like those. The little guys bring us food though, nuts, fruit, some fresh fish. I don’t think they cook, they went crazy when David lit a fire, they don’t come close while we have one going, except Wobbly an’ Old Paula, oh and Shirts.”
“Before you ask,” David joined in as he got closer, “Shirts is what she calls the little one that seems to be the only one that seems to like us. After the party, we had some trouble finding all our clothes, he showed up wearing my shirt and won’t give it back.”
“Party?”
“Ah, the night they gave us back our stuff, they showed up in the hundreds with all sorts of food,” David smirked oddly to himself, “Most of it was edible. They had this . . . tea or something in gourds. It tasted like fruit nectar. Next we knew, we were waking up yesterday afternoon half naked.”
“B-but we’re pretty sure nothing happened!” Riona added quickly.
“Except Shirts got his namesake, and Riona’s dagger.” David concluded. “But other than that, we can’t really figure out if we’re prisoners or guests. We haven’t tried to find our way out of wherever we are, not with you out, but they get awfully unpleasant if we wander too far from the main entrance.”
“Entrance?”
David started to elaborate, but was cut off by a familiar grunt from behind Rowan before he finished a word. Rowan turned to see the brogan that had trundled off standing there. Behind ‘Paula’ were four more. These each had fur colored almost exactly like the black, grey, and white badgers he knew in Lone Wood. Two trudged along on either side of a third that seemed to stagger drunkenly between his two guards. The fourth was obviously Shirts, lingering back in the distance and fiddling with the hem of David’s shirt as it dangled down about the creature’s ankles.
The two guards seemed almost identical, save for differing arrays of feathers and bones knotted into their hair and tied to their arms. Rowan disliked their expressions as they eyed him and the others. They looked somewhere between Nian at the mention of roast venison and someone who smelled something they didn’t like. Their primary function seemed to be ensuring that the brogan between them didn’t wander aimlessly or tumble headlong onto the grass. He guessed their charge was Wobbly.
Wobbly looked like he might be identical to his guards if he cleaned up, tied his hair, and found some interesting trinkets. As he stood, or swayed, Wobbly was about as different in appearance as one could imagine. While the other brogan all seemed to have the same, slightly hunched posture, Wobbly seemed to vary between stretching completely upright and hunching down to gnaw on his knees. His hair hung loose in a tangled, chaotic mass. An odd, bright gold stain covered the brogan’s snout around his nose and mouth, as well as his forepaws.
Rowan found himself more than a little nervous as Wobbly shambled forward from the others. The odd brogan stumbled up to him and buried his snout into Rowan’s crotch. Rowan started to reach down to steady Wobbly, but the two brogan escorts immediately gave warning snarls that gave him pause. Rowan stood awkwardly as the drunken fur-ball snuffled about his groin and up his stomach. Wobbly grasped hold of Rowan’s long, thick tendrils that hung from his head to his waist. The brogan sniffed curiously at the Desaid’s vine-like hair before pulling down slowly on it. The creature’s strength was disproportionate to its size, and Rowan didn’t think he could have stayed upright had he wanted to.
Wobbly pulled Rowan down until he was bent face-to-face with the odd creature. The brogan’s eyes were broadly dilated, despite the bright morning light. They reminded Rowan of Tombo’s gaze when the hampan had discovered a patch of bad mushrooms. The poor beast had spent most of a day howling and attacking trees, and nearly two laying about and vomiting afterward. Wobbly’s breath blew hotly across Rowan’s face. It’s odor had an overpowering mix of sickly sweetness and medicinal herbs. Without warning, Wobbly slid out his long, coarse tongue and licked the length of Rowan’s face. As Rowan reeled at the smell and odd tingling sensation left along the tongue’s path, Wobbly released his hold on the Desaid’s hair. The brogan stood swaying idly and drew a handful of bright gold petals mixed with strange, jagged leaves from a hollowed gourd. Wobbly stuffed the collection of plants into his mouth and chewed, still staring at Rowan as he swayed idly.
“Did he do that with you guys?” Rowan murmured to Riona, his gaze drifting between Wobbly and his guards.
“Nope. He sniffed us, but no licking. Maybe he thinks you’re cute . . . or appetizing.”
“I don’t know about the leaves,” Rowan whispered back, “But those gold petals are from Fairy-Flowers. One petal will make you see things that aren’t there for days . . . as much as he just ate would kill a bull. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t see anything, not how we do anyway. I think your Wobbly is like a priest or an oracle.”
“So what’s he doing?”
“I don’t know.” Rowan whispered back impatiently, “How many poisoned roots or whatever have you seen me chewing on? Maybe he’s sizing me up, maybe he’s counting purple horses.”
The whole company stood watching Wobbly chew thoughtfully as he gazed here and there, mostly at trees and sky. Rowan’s attention started to drift after a minute or so, and he fell to watching Shirts, off in the shade of several taller aspen trees. The little brogan, at least half a foot shorter than the others turned its ears forward as it met Rowan’s gaze. It tilted its head and made an odd gesture with its nose that was comical enough that Rowan had to laugh softly.
Rowan’s noise seemed to draw Wobbly’s attention back to him. The brogan swallowed its mouthful of plants and reached one of its long arms up to Rowan’s chest. Wobbly held forth a single long, wicked claw and quickly drove its tip into Rowan’s left breast. Riona gasped and started forward angrily, but Rowan held out a hand to stop her. The brogan’s claw wasn’t deep, and he had no doubt that with his strength, Wobbly could easily have torn out Rowan’s heart with one motion had he wanted to. More than anything though, he’d noted the two brawny escorts tense as she started moving, and knew that would be a short and bloody fight. He held as still as he could manage while the brogan cut a long vertical line in his chest. Wobbly added two shorter lines to either side of the first, dragging down in a diagonal path to intersect the first at its center. When he seemed to have finished, Wobbly hauled down on Rowan’s shoulder and licked the bloody mark.
The tingling danced along his skin again, but w
here the brogan’s saliva touched broken skin, it changed to a stinging burn. Rowan set his teeth against the agony, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he found his attention drawn by a sudden motion from Shirts. The little brogan stiffened and sniffed the air, apparently not liking something carried on the wind. He rather suddenly let out two odd, chirping barks. The second bark had an odd echo in Rowan’s ears as the morning light seemed to shift hues oddly.
Except for Wobbly, the brogan all seemed to explode into motion with Shirts’ warning. The oracle’s escorts both leapt forward and seized their charge under each arm, dragging him through the air behind them as they trundled toward a nearby thicket with amazing speed for their bulky forms. Old Paula scurried between Riona’s legs, toppling her to the ground, and darted out to the field where she started barking and snapping at Tombo and the horse. Gatefyre darted away into the trees at the sudden hostility, but Tombo was reluctant to leave the pile of melons in front of him. Rowan tried to bend down to help Riona to her feet, but his muscles responded in direct opposition to his wishes and he only tumbled backward onto the grass.
Rowan stared up at the sky in wonder as the blue vault of heaven opened and sent a shower of hundreds of colors down onto his face. Suddenly, some creature loomed over him with golden scales and a head that seemed to split into two and reconnect with itself as he watched. It roared at him in strange, musical tones. Then something hit him in the face. Rowan blinked in surprise as he watched the creature’s golden scales shift into silky blonde strands of hair. Riona was leaning over him and saying something. It looked like she was speaking loud, but his ears only heard an odd pulsing tone. Rowan gave a shout of surprise as the snaggle-toothed face and shoulders of Shirts hovered over him. Then he fell into a fit of helpless giggles as he thought of Riona’s ridiculous names for the brogan. She was such a silly girl; running around naming the scourges of the Spireward woodlands like they were pets. Rowan kept laughing as the little creature hauled his torso over his shoulders and drug him into the thicket.
