A Fistful of Dirt (part 3) - Conclusion
about 8 years ago
– Wed, Feb 17, 2016 at 09:25:24 PM
A fitting way to celebrate funding is with the thrilling conclusion to the Gav Thorpe story. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have. Enjoy...
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The third arrow was in flight moments after the first but Ankhou was already moving. He broke into a run and had reached full speed even before the human hit the ground. Thorns and bushes tore at his legs as the minotaur powered through the undergrowth, blood raging through his veins. He swept the broad axe from his back, its weight comfortable in his fist like the grip of a companion.
Though his foes used the gloom and low branches as best they could he caught glimpses of three sicarius warriors lurking in the shadows. Self-appointed guardians of the runic pools they prided themselves on their civilisation, but how easily they had exchanged feather quills for arrow fletching as their source of power. He snorted angrily and barrelled toward the closest, ignoring the whip of branches across his face, leaving tatters of leaves and wood in his wake.
The object of his violent intent drew a long knife as Ankhou thundered into range, his axe swinging with the full momentum of his charge. The blade swept past the cat-warrior just a finger’s width from its scalp, parting hairs in its flowing mane. Falling back from the headlong attack, the sicarius had no time to strike in response as Ankhou skidded to a halt in a flurry of dead leaves. The minotaur swung his axe overhead, looking to cleave the sicarius from neck to groin but the blade deflected through thick branches, parting wood rather than flesh and bone.
Hissing and snarling, the sicarius scampered away. It dodged past a tree as Ankhou’s third swing sought its neck, the axe blade catching solidly in the wood.
*****
Despite its bulk the minotaur was a hard target for Ersa to follow, thrashing between the trees as it tried to land a solid blow on Sithon. The other sicarius dodged and weaved constantly, occasionally pausing for a heartbeat to loose an arrow point-bank into the beast, though the few such wild shots that found their mark did little harm to the massive creature. Kalkas stepped quickly left then right, trying to find a shot to aid his brother but was equally hampered by the dense terrain.
Putting her arrow and bow back in their quiver, Ersa steadied her thoughts. Drawing a deep breath she focussed on her surroundings, allowed the mystical aura streaming from the runic pools to infuse her body. Time slowed almost to a standstill, the ragged remnants of branches suspended in the air, Kalkos’ shot glided slowly toward the minotaur, threads of saliva flew from the bullman’s open mouth.
She reached to a tube of leather at her hip and pulled free its contents with an assured tug. The tapestry unrolled with a flick of the wrist, revealing a complex pattern of threaded geometry and knotwork. The tattoos on her arms burned bright with power, their design unravelling and falling away onto the needlework totem, infusing it with their colour.
The incantation fell easily from her lips, swiftly and surely spoken from years of practise. The magic and the tapestry combined, weaving together, becoming one thing, forming a totemic pillar in as she let the enchanted mat fall across the leaf-strewn ground a few paces away.
Time returned, though not quite as before. The magic of the totem swirled around everything, reaching with tendril-like limbs to the trees, caressing the minotaur’s form with questing fingers of sparkling fog.
Everything was sharper, more easily distinguished. The movement of the branches, the stampede of the minotaur slowed and measured. Sithon’s movements were sleeker, more efficient as he ducked beneath another swing and threw himself aside, vaulting an arching root as he did so.
Swiftly drawing her bow again, Ersa fitted a shaft and loosed it on one smooth motion, guided by the totem-spell. The arrow struck the minotaur in the shoulder, just beneath the strapping of its pauldron. The impact staggered her target, the first sign of mortal weakness. A drawn out heartbeat later, his aim aided by the totemic power, Kalkas’ next shot took the enemy warrior in the back of the thigh.
Ersa smelt minotaur blood and heard it patter on dead leaves. She knew she ought not take pleasure in the pain of others but bared her teeth in delight all the same.
*****
Everything seemed to happen all at once. Dek was on the ground, three arrows in him, probably dead. Ankhou bellowed and raged through the undergrowth, chasing flitting shadows that spat more barbed shafts. Harke and Caulden stood over the body of the other Devoid, crossbows levelled as they sought a target. More shapes moved through the trees, accompanied by snarling and barking.
Emesh drew closer to Mitra, seeking the sanctuary of the giant mage’s presence.
“Remember our role!” hissed Ninazu. He readied his spear and raised his shield. Five cayads burst from the woods in a chorus of war-howls. Emesh’s lover stepped protectively in front of Mitra. “We are the guardians.”
Emesh swallowed his fear and joined his partner, interposing himself between the oncoming war pack and the hadjen mage that he had chosen to serve.
The cayads split, three heading left, two coming straight for Mitra. The crossbow bolts of the devoid followed the first group; Ninazu advanced toward the second, expecting Emesh to follow. The other Tir warrior stood his ground as the pair of dog-men leapt at him, trusting to his shield to catch their blows. Emesh flinched at the clang of metal on metal.
Fighting back nerves that made his palms sweat and his arms tremble, Emesh ran forward and set upon the yapping foes that beset Ninazu, driving them back with rapid spear jabs. He yelled something incoherent, his frenzied thrusts fuelled by the nascent magic of the pools as much as his dread.
The cayads fell back, snarling curses, foiled by the armoured warriors. They prowled back and forth, trying to tempt the Tir forward, away from their charge, but Emesh held firm beside Ninazu and drew comfort and energy from his presence.
*****
Vidius hesitated, just for a moment, enough to allow Orcus and Letum to get two steps closer to the humans – making them better targets. Their crossbows reloaded, the Devoid tracked the cayads circling through the woods. Vidius turned back, breaking from cover to outflank the two shield-bearers. If he could just wound the hadjen, maybe get a little of its blood, that would be a victory in itself.
The mage turned toward him, a nimbus of power gleaming from her eyes and tusks. Distracted, Vidius almost missed one of the Tir warriors breaking away from Virbius and Bellona to intercept him.
He caught the spearhead darted toward his chest on a dew-blade, turning aside the blow. A kick sent his attacker backward, cowering behind his shield once more. Virbius and Bellona closed on the now isolated Tir while their Alpha slashed and thrust with his paired weapons, raining blow after blow against his opponent’s raised shield. He could see the desperation in the human’s eyes as he retreated one step then another and then two more, unable to mount a counter-offensive against the flurry of Vidius’s assault.
And then Vidius saw steel enter his foe’s gaze and the retreat stopped. The Tir fighter chose not to counter-attack, and simply absorbed Vidius’s fury, buying time. Vidius relented for a few heartbeats to catch his breath, his attention drawn past the human.
An aura of crimson and cerulean energy surrounded the hadjen mage. The cayad Alpha’s fur stood on end and the air crackled with the pressure of condensed magic.
*****
Attempting dispassionate analysis, Mitras surveyed the unfolding events even as magical power surged into her giant form. The battle had broken into three components like a energetic compound split into its constituent elements. Ankhou was trying to hunt down the elusive sicarius; Harke and Caulden were reloading their crossbows again as a pair of cayads closed; her Tir companions were beset by a trio of dog-warriors.
The weak link was the Devoid. Their crossbows were too unwieldy for the terrain, their Cayad foes too wily and fast. They would be on the humans in a few heartbeats.
Breathing out, Mitra let the magic flow from her. It was a release of pent up tension, an unburdening of magic as smooth as the exhalation. From the calm came power. Into the concentrated pulse of mystic energy she let free the rage she had quelled, the fear she had suppressed. Her negative emotions sprang into life as a roiling blast of azure fire that flared toward the cayads threatening Harke and Caulden.
The explosion of power flung the cayads into the bushes, sparks and fire trailing from their bodies. Their yelps of pain followed them as they quickly slunk back into the cover of the trees.
*****
Pierced by arrows Ankhou knew time was short. Digging into his reserves of stamina he let fly a fist at the closest sicarius, the unexpected attack catching the archer unawares. The impact flung the sicarius into a nearby tree, to fall dazed amongst the thick roots.
He hesitated, conflicted between finishing off his downed opponent and going after the others. A glance confirmed that the wounded sicarius was not going anywhere for a while and the minotaur set himself against the other two cat-warriors.
They retreated from his advance, unleashing another furry of arrows. Some broke on his armour, one caught the flesh of his thick neck and another lodged into the mail protecting his gut. The sicarius circled as he lumbered into a jog, trying to close the distance to his attackers.
Ankhou’s eye was drawn to something glimmering in the bushes – something the sicarius did not want to abandon judging by their movements. Ducking under low canopy he came upon a glinting totem. He felt pulses of magic wash from its complex geometry, hot on his skin. With bellow he slashed the totem with his axe. It turned to tatters of thread and light falling from the blade of his weapon.
Another shaft pierced his arm, punching through muscle to the bone. Ignoring the pain, he ripped the arrow free with his teeth. Blood bubbled from the wound, collecting in pools in his armour, joining the rivulets trickling form the dozen wounds in his flesh.
Arms and legs leaden with effort, vision swimming dizzily, Ankhou took a huge breath and forced himself into a fresh pursuit, determined to drive the Sicarius further from the runic pools.
*****
Vidius spared a moment to glance toward his allies in time to see them falling back from the renewed attack of the minotaur. The cat-folk slipped into the woods, barely stirring a leaf. Watching the minotaur stubbornly pushing after them, the Alpha wondered if he would see them again.
For the moment his cayads were all that faced the four humans and a defiant hadjen. The numbers were not in their favour.
“Fall back!” he barked. He drew away from the shield-warrior, who seemed content to allow him to retreat. “Regroup!”
The war-pack needed no further urging. Chased by another brace of crossbow bolts, Vidius’ warriors dashed back into the welcome sanctuary of the trees. They gathered around their leader, panting, tails limp and ears flat.
“We are beaten,” whined Letus.
“Not yet.” Vidius flexed his claws. “Stay close. We take them as a pack.”
He loped back through the woods giving them no time to argue. Instinct forced them to follow on his heel as he dashed out of cover once more. Yapping and snarling, they cayads launched themselves at the Tir. Snapping fangs and slashing dew-blades forced them to give ground until one lost his footing and fell. Vidius pounced on the unfortunate, scrabbling at the man’s shield to expose his chest or throat for a fatal blow.
*****
“Shoot!” growled Harke.
“At what?” replied Caulden. Her crossbow swayed left and right as she tried to pick a target amongst the melee between the Tir and cayads.
“Just shoot!” Harke loosed his bolt into the fray. It missed Emesh by a slim margin and buried deep into the shoulder of a dog-warrior menacing fallen Ninazu. Yelping, the cayad slinked away.
Caulden followed, but her quarrel ricocheted from the armour of Emesh, staggering the Tir.
She cursed as she reloaded.
A fresh conflagration engulfed Vidius, scorching fur and flesh. He howled in pain and staggered back from the hadjen’s magical blast. Bellona, wounded by a quarrel, had fled; Letum panted hard, a deep cut across his forehead. With surprising speed, the Tir warrior Vidius had grounded thrust out his spear, catching the Alpha in the abdomen, steel spearpoint puncturing flesh.
Pain, fear and rage vied against each other in the Alpha. The battle was almost lost. But the hadjen was so close, the magic and stench of it thick around the Alpha.
Rage won.
Vidius seized hold of orcus and howled out a call to the blood-magic. He let his anger and dread pour into his companion, feeding off the strength of the other cayad, leeching his life-force even as his pain fled into Orcus.
His bruises flowed away, the cuts on his flesh knitted. His energy restored, Vidius left Orcus to collapse, mewling and broken by the mystical tranfusion. The Alpha recklessly threw himself past the Tir, his dew-blades raised as he sped toward the hadjen mage.
*****
Mitras was all but spent, the effort of the shield she had cast upon Emesh and Ninazu was taking its toll and her last fiery enchantment had plumbed the depths of her power. It was all she could do to raise her mace to batter away the incoming Cayad Alpha with a laboured swing. Whining, the Alpha backed off, eyes narrowed.
“I cannot...” She fell to one knee, utterly exhausted.
“Enough, we’re leaving!” snapped Harke, racing up to help the hadjen to her feet, crossbow discarded, axe brandished at the loitering cayad. He signalled for Caulden to grab Dek and waved to the Tir bodyguards. “You two, let them have the pools. We’re done here.”
Emesh glanced back and saw the state of Mitras, fear clouding his expression. The cayads circled warily, content to allow the interlopers to retreat, much cut and battered themselves.
“What about Ankhou?” asked Emesh.
“We’ll come back for him,” lied Harke.
*****
The interlopers driven off, the cayads looked to their wounded, not much feeling the mood for celebration. The sicarius emerged from the woods a short time after, Ersa with a severe limp, Kalkas leaning heavily on Sithon as evidence that the minotaur had not been driven off without sacrifice.
Ersa’s whiskers twitched as she eyed the dog-warriors. Her bow was in its quiver but her hand was close to the knife on her belt. Vidius rose from tending Orcus. Bellona moved up beside him.
“The runic pools are ours,” she said quietly. “Do you honour our pact?”
“The northern pool belongs to the Blood-That-Runs-Swift and there our territory will end,” Vidius said with a nod. “You may take the southern pools as sworn by our leaders.”
“All is well,” Ersa said, the traditional parting of her people. Without further comment, the sicarius slipped into the trees, a few spatters of blood on the leaves the only evidence of their passing.
“We could have taken them,” said Virbius, thought he way he held his ribs attested otherwise.
“Not yet,” Vidius replied. “They will keep their oaths and that gives us time. We will return with the whole tribe, be assured, and no promise to stinking cats will matter anymore.”
*****
It was a sombre group that trudged back up the track toward Caernbridge. Emesh and Ninazu said nothing and kept close to Mitras. Caulden’s expression was haunted and it was only now that Harke realised she was not the seasoned mercenary she had purported to be. She had wept openly when they had buried Dek in the woods, a rough cairn of stones to keep him from the scavengers.
Ankhou had found them just before nightfall, terrifying Emesh who had been on watch while they had attended to Dek’s burial. He was much cut and bruised but seemed to have taken no affront to being left to fend for himself. He had spent the night by the fire, reading the large book he carried with him, deep in thought.
“We’re ruined,” sighed Caulden. She kicked at the stones on the path. “What’s the point of surviving the battle to pay Fordor’s pain-debt? Forget it, I’m not going back to Caernbridge. They can chase me all the way to Frostdelve or Aishishin or the moons for all I care.”
“You worry too much,” said Harke. “Payday is coming. We’ve learnt some hard lessons about teamwork, and we need to replace Dek and maybe hire another sword or two, but no need to lament.”
The others stopped and looked at him, incredulous.
“We were never going to seize the runic pools,” he told them. “It was not my intent. In the middle of dog country, on the border of sicarius shrinelands? We’d be dead within days. Let some other idiots take that job. All our employers wanted was proof that the pools were there. They didn’t want to fund a full expedition on just a rumour.”
“Proof?” said Ninazu. “Why did we go into the woods? We could feel the pools long before we saw them. You are a fool and we paid blood for your foolishness!”
“Testimony is not proof, not by the contract I agreed,” explained Harke. He was content to ignore the insult for the moment. “We had to get to the pools themselves. Now we have exactly what we need to get paid.”
The Devoid captain smiled slyly and pulled a leather pouch from his belt. He tipped some of its contents into his palm. It was soil and leaves that glittered and lit his face with a haze of magic.
“Worth more than gold dust,” he laughed.
A Fistful of Dirt (part 2)
about 8 years ago
– Mon, Feb 15, 2016 at 06:43:01 AM
Hi All,
As Valentine's Day is quickly approaching please consider this my early gift to you. If you haven't had a chance to read part 1 yet, please go back to the first update - you won't be sorry. Gav is a master wordsmith as can be seen below.
Thank you again for being backers and at five days in we are at 86% of our goal!
Best,
Adam
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Harke shrugged hard, trying to settle his baldric more easily across his shoulders. The weight of his long axe was starting to wear on his back just as much as the drizzle of rain was wearing on his patience. He stopped on the path and looked back. From here in the foothills of the Cassiad Highlands Caernbridge was just a smudge on the horizon, barely discernible against the slate grey sky.
“I’m not sad to have quit that place,” said Dek, stopping alongside the expedition’s leader. “Filthy place, full of beggars.”
“There’s money to be had though,” replied Harke. He raked meaty fingers through his thick beard and thought of the messenger that had brought him the contract that now nestled inside his jerkin – a half-feral cayad pup that had been lured to the city, or taken forcibly. Opportunity abounded. “We get this job done and there’ll be no shortage of coin.”
“There better be,” said Dek, dropping his voice. He glanced at their companions still making their way up the steep track – the towering form of the hadjen mage Mitras and her two human associates, Ninazu and Emesh. “We’re in deep with Fordor’s loan-hag. The trunker’s fees alone would have paid for a cart and horses, or three more sword-hands.”
“It’ll be worth it,” Harke said. He wiped rain from his face. He had told the others the Hadjen Council of the Vena Puranas had sponsored the trip. The truth was he had no idea who had secured the bond guaranteeing the loan. There were powers known and unknown interested in all that passed outside the city. “We have enough blades. Magic, that’s what this is all about. And there isn’t none that knows more than the hadjen, right?”
They turned without further word and looked toward their destination. Clinging to the lower slope of Mount Fassas, the woods were thick and old, though a jagged line of pale rock ran through them like a livid scar. When Harke had lived in the Highlands as a child there had been nothing taller than the fell they crested, no vegetation bigger than gorse and heather.
“Reunification, I still can’t get my head around it,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” said Dek.
“Two worlds collide, one is left,” Harke replied. He looked at Mitras. The lumbering elephantine mage drew level and gazed down at him with soft brown eyes. “A curse or a miracle?”
“If we knew the answer to that, we would be richer in pocket and wisdom,” said the hadjen. Her two Tir companions nodded and smiled in appreciation of the remark. “Perhaps we will find truth in the runic pools.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Harke. He returned his gaze to the forbidding woods that lay ahead. “Cayad country. Thick with hounds, they say. The last place any sensible man would want to go.”
“What does that say of you, man of the Devoid?” said Mitras.
“Nothing yet,” replied Harked. He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “But one day I hope they say I have more money than sense!”
The others did not share his mirth. The last of their company appeared between the rocks flanking the trail. As big as the hadjen, the minotaur Ankhou wore a vest of iron scale, massive fists enclosed in spiked gauntlets. Paired swords hung at the warrior’s right hip, the shorter of the two easily as long as Harke’s double-handed axe, the longer big for any lesser creature to wield even in two hands.
“He’s too cheap,” whispered Dek, “and I don’t like that he came to us.”
“Never look a gift cow in the mouth,” muttered Harke. He raised his voice. “Go ahead and find Caulden, take over scouting duty and send her back to me.”
“Oh great,” said the mercenary, eyeing the woods with a sour expression. “She gets the easy job over the hills. I have to lead us into... into that place.”
“You can turn back now,” said Harke. “Just leave me the shield and sword I paid for, and the pack of food on your back.” He leaned close, his voice a little more than a breath. “And your cut of the contract, of course.”
Dek met his gaze. Doubt lingered for only a heartbeat before greed asserted itself once again.
“Let’s get this done,” said Dek, setting off down the path at a brisk pace.
“Is money all you desire?” asked Emesh. He sighed, disappointed.
“The world has changed,” Harke replied sharply, staring at the two Tir and then the hadjen. “You have the mystic way. Even those cayad curs have that disgusting blood magic. Why do they call us the Devoid? Because we have nothing now but money... That has a power equal to magic.” He looked at the minotaur who had barely spoken two words since the fee had been agreed at the gate of caerbridge. “Or can hire it for a while, at the least. We can’t stay the Devoid for long or we’ll end up the devoured.”
He flexed his shoulders, the weight of the axe suddenly less of a burden. Nothing good ever came overnight. One step at a time.
*****
The Cassiad Highlands were in a state of flux. Mitras could feel the shifting essences and powers still roiling from the storm of reunification. Beneath solid-looking stone and deep forest the land was in turmoil, shifting and bubbling like a rapid.
On the surface the roots of the seeping magic power were hidden but its effects could still be felt. The runic pools which the human sought were like the skin-scratch, leading into a far greater wound.
The hadjen felt the magic dripping from the branches and leaves and surging into the roots of the trees. The mulch glittered with residual mystical energy and it coated her companions, shining in different colours from each of them.
Her two companions, Emesh and Ninazu, were bright with silver and gold energy, bred and raised to be lode-bearers for the likes of the mage. The Devoid were pale grey, except for Harke, who was almost black, wrapped in deceit. She knew well enough that the Hadjen Council of the Vena Puranas had not sent him – she herself was counted amongst their agents. Finding out who had commissioned the expedition was, for the moment, a secondary concern after verifying the existence of the pools and determining whether they had already been claimed.
The minotaur was a brash scarlet. The book at his waist, his Record of Ancient Days, burned like a flame, its stored knowledge even more potent than the energy of the Tir. What secrets did the bull-beast keep within the tome? What old wisdoms could Mitras learn if she could but prise the pages from him?
But she would not. That was not the way any longer. Force begat equal force. The breaking of the world and reunification had shown that every action had an opposite reaction with magic as well as in the spatial realm. This time the hadjen would be more subtle, they would not risk the world again.
A confluence of magical essence and material dimension glimmered some distance away through the trees. Not a pool, not yet, but the well beneath a pool drawing close to the surface.
“This way,” she told the others, pointing with her trunk. “Not far now.”
****
Suddenly tense, Vidius’ reaction was a signal to the other cayads surer than any call or gesture. The war-pack stopped in their tracks, settling to their haunches. A heartbeat later the sicarius a short distance behind them halted too, drifting into the shadows and leaves.
Something was not right with the world. Something, someone, intruded. Vidius could feel it like an itch inside his head. Other senses caught up – hearing caught nothing but the sigh of the leaves and the gentle patter of raindrops, while his nose detected the faintest trace of something alien. Something bovine...
The others could smell it too and twitched nervously.
“Split,” said Vidius. He rose up and quietly moved to the left, waving for the Sicarius to follow him. The other cayads moved right and disappeared into the undergrowth, barely trembling a branch or leaf.
They had not gone far when the smell of metal and oil was so strong Vidius knew the enemy could be no more than a bowshot away, though the thick woods hid all but a glimpse of them – quick flashes of metal and leather. Sound carried far more information. Heavy tread. Two big creatures. The creak of harness and slap of scabbards. Distinct smells, becoming clearer as they came closer. Three humans. No, five. Two of them staying close to... Vidius did not know the scent by experience but could guess from the stories of other Alphas in the tribe. A hadjen. One of the magickers.
Knowledge of the mystical arts that shamed the blood magic of the cayads. A prize as valuable as the pools themselves.
Vidius made ‘wildcall’, imitating the chirrup of a mountain dove to mark his position. Answering cries confirmed his companions had circled around the interlopers and waited to pounce. He glanced over his shoulder to the Sicarius.
*****
The bow was an extension of Ersa’s arm. As she straightened, Kalkas and Sithon in the corner of her eye to the right, she saw the bulk of the minotaur between two trees. It dwarfed the humans preceding it. Branches whipped at its chest and face as it plunged through the woods.
The humans made hard work of the terrain, hacking, chopping and cursing, enough noise to be heard all the way to the Sighing Caves far to the north, which Ersa had left at dawn on the previous day.
She moved her aim a little, taking the barbed tip of her arrow away from the minotaur. The movement brought the runic pool into sight for a moment – a gleaming patch of azure and jade that looked like wrinkled glass. Taking a step closer, she tracked a human in the distinctive forgework and leather of a Devoid mercenary. His black hair was long and tangled with leaves, his face a mask of bulbous lips and flat, brutish nose edged by a long, matted beard.
The human disappeared behind a thick bole but another came into view, younger and scrawnier. A sideways glance found the cayad Alpha, Vidius. He nodded and loped into the woods, heading for his pack.
“Take down the weak ones first,” she whispered to the twins. “Make our first shots count.”
They loosed their arrows almost simultaneously. Three black-feathered shafts sprang from the chest and gut of the unfortunate human. Even as he collapsed backward war howls split the air, competing with shouts of panic.
*****
