Spawn of Fury

by Sean Hinn

  Oort tasted blood as he again drew his dagger and began to shape his spear.

  “Yup, I got somethin’ for yeh, Mama,” he said, breathing heavily. He worked at the wood, cutting off twigs. Turns passed. Mama broke the silence with a howl. “Easy, there. I know yeh got right t’be mad. But I got a right to see my Thinny again.” He sawed at the branch, cutting it to length. Oort’s chapped hands bled, freely in places, but he hardly noticed, aside from his slickening grip on the dagger. That condition changed quickly enough, in any case, as the leather grip became sticky with drying blood.

  He had forgotten about the cold some time before. Turns became hours. Mama began scratching at the trunk again, repeatedly agitated by falling twigs and hunks of bark. “Just yeh be patient, Mama. One o’ the two of us is gonna die tonight. Yeh’ll get yer chance.” It’ll not be me, Oort thought to say as Mama whined, but at some point in the night, while he worked at his weapon, the exchange between the two enemies evolved in tone; less spiteful, somehow. Or so Oort imagined. “One of us will die, Mama,” Oort repeated. “One of us’ll see dawn. One won’t.” Ain’t no reason to spend our last turns mad about it.

  The effectiveness of the dagger in shaping the point of the spear was lessening, its blade dulled and coated in pine tar. The final phase of the endeavor seemed to take forever, but Oort did not rush. Shoulda made the point first, dung fer brains, he scolded himself. “Ha! Maybe next time, eh Mama? Live ‘n learn!” Mama’s growled reply seemed offended, to Oort’s ears.

  At long last, the weapon was complete, or at least as complete as Oort could make it. The tip was not exactly sharp, but it was well-shaped. With a sufficient amount of force behind it, Oort believe it would do its lethal duty.

  Completing the task brought Oort out of the numb state of trance he had been in, and he quickly became aware of just how cold and miserable he felt.

  “Nothin’ fer it,” he mumbled, looking down the tree to see Mama pacing its perimeter, then up to the still-dark night sky. He was surprised to realize it was not yet dawn; his cramped muscles felt as if he had spent days within the tree.

  Climbing down the tree with the spear proved complex. Eventually, Oort unfastened his belt, tucked in the spear and refastened it, freeing his hands for the descent. Clumsily he made his way lower as Mama’s agitation reached a pitch; as he had hoped, she began to jump and snap, and soon Oort felt sure he could judge her reach.

  Oort had also hoped there would be a limb at the right height upon which he could wait for his chance. There was, and as he settled his feet atop it, not twenty feet above where Mama paced and whined, fear again threatened to paralyze him.

  So big. Mawbottom, she’s a right monster.

  Thinsel’s voice called again from deep within his heart. “My brave, brave husband.”

  He would need to time it just right. If she sidestepped his leap, if he missed his target… Oort shuddered.

  “Come an’ get me, Mama!” he called.

  Mama growled and snapped, yellow eyes reflecting her hatred in the Twinlight.

  “Big tough Mama, canna even catch a gnome!” Oort stabbed downwards with the spear, taunting the beast. She coiled, jumped with all her might… Oort watched, taking measure of the spot from which she jumped, where she landed, how she landed…

  “Ooh, just a little short there, eh Mama? Dontcha give up now, try me again!” He dangled the spear a bit lower this time, and Mama jumped again, barely missing the tip with her snapping jaws. Mama howled in frustration, the tormented sound something between a curse and a lament. Again Oort measured her movements. As she landed, for the briefest moment, she was vulnerable. If he dove just as she reached the apex of her jump, they would fall to the ground together, and she would not have time to regain her footing and evade the tip of the spear.

  Once more, yeh treacherous beast, Oort thought. Once more, and I’ll have yeh. Oort suspected he might only get one more chance – eventually, he suspected Mama would stop responding to the taunts. Much as he would have liked to time her movements again, to measure once more, he dared not risk it. The next time she jumped, Oort Greykin would as well.

  For the last time, he thought of his Shyla, and of his wife. “I love yeh, me wee Nugget. I love yeh, Thinny.”

  Oort shifted his stance, crouching. His heart thrashed and pounded wildly within his chest, clamoring for attention, begging its bearer to reconsider the act that would surely hasten its final beat. Oort ignored its pleas. He maneuvered the spear into both hands, balancing on the branch. As he opened his mouth to emit his final taunt, however, Mama’s pacing suddenly stopped. Silver ears flitted nervously. The beast froze into a crouch of her own, turning her head to the north. After a breath, Mama bounded away, and soon Oort could no longer make out her form among the trees.

  Mama was gone, but the gnome knew better than to be relieved. No matter what had distracted her, Oort Greykin was certain: she would not forget the enemy she left behind.

  ~

  Jade kept her gaze focused on the snowy ground before her, and so did not see the fist Fannor held up as he crested the rise. She did, however, notice the sudden absence of crunching snow ahead, and when she lifted her eyes she was not surprised to see Kari and Jasper had come to a halt. She looked up to see Fannor’s fingers extended as one, pointing towards the sky, indicating that Jade, and only Jade, should approach. She did so as silently as possible.

  “Lose the trail?” she whispered.

  Fannor shook his head. He motioned towards the ground. Several sets of footprints had merged in the snow. One set was Oort’s, the others…

  Jade made a pinching shape with her fingers, silently asking the question: “Gnomes?”

  Fannor nodded, holding up three fingers. He motioned towards valley below and pointed to his nose.

  Jade immediately understood.

  Smoke, but no fire.

  The smoke indicated that Oort was likely somewhere beneath them in the valley, but the light of a campfire should have been easy to see. The absence of light could have meant the fire went out on its own as Oort slept. But it could also mean either Oort extinguished the fire himself, or someone else did. Neither of the latter possibilities boded well. Jade pulled at Fannor’s elbow and cocked her head, urging him back below the rise, but before either of them could take a step, a familiar, tortured wail from below froze them stiff.

  Mama.

  Jasper needed no instruction from Jade. He reached over and grasped Kari’s chin, pulling her face close.

  “Pack down. Axe out. On my heels. Silent!”

  Kari obeyed in silence. The four huddled close.

  “Three gnomes, plus Oort,” Jade whispered.

  “Plus Mama,” Jasper added unnecessarily.

  Jade didn’t reply. Her silence asked a question. Kari answered.

  “We have to help him.”

  Nods from Jasper and Fannor sealed the pact. Jade and Fannor dropped their packs. Fannor handed her the crossbow and a bolt. She jammed a boot into the stirrup and cocked the weapon.

  “Flint. Stay back ten paces. Don’t swing that axe unless we be in trouble. Jasper left. Fannor right. Move.”

  The scouts crested the rise, Jade leading the way, Fannor and Jasper within an arm’s length on either side, Kari counting steps to maintain her distance. They moved quickly, down the slope and into the silent valley, but not quickly enough. A growl and a rip broke the stillness ahead, followed immediately by a shriek of terror and agony, a dreadful sound that could only be the cry of a gnome.

  The four broke into a run towards the sound, dashing between trees, heedless of their footing. Suddenly the shoulder of a fleeing gnome slammed into Jade, ripping the wind from her lungs and tripping the trigger of the crossbow. The bolt stuck harmlessly in a tree somewhere ahead as Jade and the gnome tumbled to the snowy ground.

  Jasper pulled the gnome off of Jade, quickly releasing him after a cursory examination.

  “Not Oort.”

  Fannor helped Jade to h
er feet. She could not yet speak for lack of air, but she managed to drop the bow and pull her daggers.

  Another growl. Another pitiful cry.

  “Klibber! Nooooo!” cried the gnome who had crashed into Jade. Jasper moved to cover the aggrieved gnome’s mouth before it could draw Mama near. It would be his last act. The diving, gaping jaws of the dire wolf had opened for the gnome, but closed for the dwarf. A crunching sound diminished the legendary company of scouts by one.

  Jade lunged forward, steel flashing, a scream of silent rage etched on her face, no wind to propel it. Mama leapt away from the attack effortlessly as she managed to suck a half lungful of frigid air. A pathetic sound issued from the sergeant.

  Fannor knew she had given an order, but could not make it out for the sound of his own cries. His own lunge at the beast proved as futile as Jade’s, abbreviated by the terrified gnome who darted before the dwarf. The two tumbled into a drift. Jade dashed forward again, this time to distract the beast as it padded hungrily towards the tangled clump of arms and legs that was Fannor and the panicked gnome. Mama would have none of it. A swipe of her mighty paw sent Jade reeling. The wolf closed on Fannor and the gnome.

  To Kari, the previous few breaths had passed like seasons, but it was time to act. The new scout spared but a split instant for regret: half to acknowledge to herself that they were there, about to die, at her own insistence; the other half to scold herself for the thought. If they all were to die in a vain effort to save Oort, Kari decided quickly, then they will have died well. Axe lifted high over her head, Kari Flint advanced, the battle call of the dwarves of Belgorne on her lips.

  “Stonarriiiis!”

  Mama lifted her gaze towards Kari, recognizing the threat, such as it was. The dire wolf snarled and bent low.

  Oort Greykin jabbed the makeshift spear into the underbelly of the distracted beast with all his might. His strike was true; he buried the point of the spear into his loathsome enemy just beneath the ribs, where her hide was thinnest, and Mama’s snarl became a moan of agony. She tried to roll away from the attack and made it as far as her back, but the spear had lodged itself fast, and she could roll no further. The screaming, murderous gnome continued to drive the weapon upwards, shoving it, boots scrambling in the snow, shoving it again. Mama’s legs flailed for their own purchase but found none; her pain was disorienting, and she managed only to continue to roar and howl. With a final twist and a thrust, Oort’s spear punctured the lung of the beast, and a moment later, Kari’s uncle’s axe extinguished the light in the animal’s eyes forever.

  ~

  “I’ll carry his daggers,” Jade said as she patted down the last spadeful of snowy, ashen dirt over the three corpses. It was near to noon.

  “And give ’em back to who?” said Kari. She shot Jade a pleading look. The two women locked reddened eyes for a long moment. Jade finally nodded.

  “Aye. He liked ye, Kari Flint. He’d want ye to carry ’em,” Jade agreed.

  Kari nodded. “How’s the head?”

  Jade shrugged. The wolf’s swipe at the sergeant had thankfully not torn her flesh, but she had struck her head soundly upon landing. An angry lump throbbed above her left eye. “Hurts a bit. Not bad.” She turned towards Oort, Fannor, and the gnome hunter, Argl, then back to Kari. “They done, yet?”

  Kari nodded. “About.”

  Jade shook her head. “Morbid business.”

  “Oort wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Kari paused before walking away. “Did ye wanna say some words?”

  Jade took a breath, considering the question. At length she shook her head. “Jasper wasn’t like that. And I ain’t got no words, ’sides.” Jade turned and walked up the slope to where Oort and Fannor knelt, skinning Mama’s hide. Kari followed.

  “No, don’t roll it up yet. We gotta cure it,” Fannor said to Oort.

  “And tan it,” Argl added.

  “Ain’t got the salt nor the time,” Jade countered.

  “We’ll cure it in G’naath,” Oort said.

  “We ain’t goin’ to G’naath,” said Jade.

  Fannor stood. “Ye might wanna hear what Argl here has to say before ye decide, Sarge.”

  Jade shook her head. “We ain’t goin’ to G’naath. Don’t ye wanna get back to your Thinsel anyways, Oort?”

  Oort nodded. “Yup. But if what Argl here says is right… well, hear ’im out.”

  Jade listened. The plan was no worse than any of their other options. It just might work.

  “All right. But we gotta move. Can ye last, Oort? I know ye’ve–”

  “Thinny’s waitin’. I can last.”

  XXIV: THE MAW

  Blythe Kalder cringed as another shrill cry from the captive gnome broke the silence. He had been avoiding the faces of his sergeants throughout their pre-dawn breakfast but could do so no longer. He regarded them each as they huddled around the fire. Beards did not hide their disgust. Each wore the same expression.

  “All right,” he said. Heads nodded in relief. There was no question as to what must be done. He made his way to King Dohr’s tent.

  “My liege,” he called through the flap.

  “Not now, Captain!”

  Kalder took a breath and steeled himself. “Gotta be now, Sire.” He entered the tent.

  “Gah! There better be a bleedin’ fire somewhere–”

  “King Dohr! What in Fury…” Kalder could not finish the thought. Before him, tied to a chair, sat a sobbing, heaving mess that he knew must be the captive gnome woman, but to his eyes appeared no more than a bloodied dwarf child. The smell was awful, excrement mixed with terror.

  Dohr turned to speak. “Ye best have good reason–”

  “A word outside please, Sire.” Kalder’s tone made clear that the invitation, despite its politeness, was not a request. King Dohr’s eyes narrowed. Kalder’s hand moved to rest on the dagger at his hip. Dohr reached towards his own hip reflexively, but his dagger lay several paces away on the table, beside his axe. For a moment, neither moved nor breathed. Dohr blinked first. Kalder held open the flap of the tent. He did not turn his back to the king as the two emerged into the cold.

  “She’s lyin’, Captain. Sure as stone. We need infor–”

  “Ye will not strike that woman again, Sire.”

  “Oh, I won’t? I am your king!” Dohr’s eyes darted about beneath his black, bushy eyebrows, seeking someone who might take up for him. No one was near. Had anyone been, they would have not recognized the dwarf who, only a cycle earlier, bore much of the demeanor and disposition of his father. The noble aspect of a son of Silverstone was gone, replaced by a wretched mien of hatred and shame.

  Kalder replied calmly, his tone soft and plain. “Aye. Ye be my king. And I tell ye without malice, if ye strike that woman again, I will kill ye, King Dohr.”

  Dohr opened his mouth to cry out for help. The back of Kalder’s fist shut it before he could utter a sound. Dohr fell to a knee. Kalder unsheathed his dagger and knelt beside the king, his voice even softer than the moment before.

  “It’ll take two more days to get this camp ready to break, Sire. Can’t go any faster’n that. In the meantime, we’re gonna try an’ fix up Nova. Lux’ll be awake soon, and we’re gonna talk to him. We’re gonna find out what there is to know, and we’re gonna do it like dwarves of Belgorne. Not butchers.” Kalder leaned in close. “Ye be a Silverstone, Sire. But ye ain’t behavin’ like one. Ye need some sleep, and ye need to let this bloodlust fade. Tell me ye can do that, Sire.”

  Dohr wiped at his bleeding lip. He scowled at Kalder. “I don’t answer to ye, Captain. This... this thing ye call a woman. It be a gnome. Ye know why ye ain’t got no family no more? Why I ain’t? Why we ain’t got a home? Gnomes! I already learned that much from the slattern. And she’s got more to–”

  “What, ye think she’s been holdin’ out on ye? Ye be a fool, then! She ain’t but a bleedin’ pile o’ meat already! Damn it to Fury, Dohr, but hate has addled your mind!”

  “Why do
ye care? Why? She ain’t a dwarf, damn ye!”

  Kalder sighed and stood. “Aye. She ain’t. And neither is me king. Not today, at least.”

  Dohr spat at the captain’s feet and rose.

  “So, do ye intend a challenge then, Captain? If so, then say as much! Or do ye intend to slay me here, unarmed?”

  Kalder shook his head and regarded the king. “Neither, Sire. Our people need a Silverstone.” Kalder put his fingers to his lips and blew a long, loud whistle. In a few moments his sergeants approached.

  “Your king has commanded that ye take the gnome woman to the healers. He does not wish to be disturbed until we break camp. Ain’t that right, Sire?”

  Kalder watched Dohr’s eyes as the king took measure of the five soldiers arrayed before him. Wild with hatred as he might be, Kalder thought, Dohr at least had the presence of mind to recognize the situation for what it was: he would not be allowed to harm the gnome woman again.

  “Aye,” Dohr said at last. “And hurry up. Tired o’ lookin’ at that thing in me tent.”

  ~

  Dawn found Kalder sitting across the tent from Lux, listening attentively as the shackled scout relayed all he had learned since leaving Belgorne. The most interesting part, to Kalder’s mind, was not who was behind the calamities that had befallen Tahr, but rather who was not.

  “So ye think it just be these Elders, then?” Kalder asked, handing Lux a skin. “Mind, ye ain’t talked to but two gnomes–”

  Lux swallowed a mouthful of sausage and took the offered skin. “Was the right gnomes, Cap. I’ll stake me seat on it. Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t sayin’ G’naath won’t fight, if it comes to it. I’m sayin’ it be them Elders and the demons they been Communin’ with that’s to blame. Rest o’ them gnomes, they don’t even know what’s what. Well, ‘cept maybe now they might. Sure bet they’ve figured out about Belgorne. Hard to miss a whole kingdom comin’ out from under a mountain.”

  “Not a whole kingdom,” Kalder corrected.