KILL HIM, NOW! KILL THEM ALL AND MAKE THIS MY KINGDOM!
Ivanos put his hand on the hilt of his longsword.
"Greetings inhabitants of the House of the Dead in Red Wolf!" said the king, his voice still as valiant as any nobleman in the prime of his youth. "Are you all honoring those who have left us in great rigor?" He smiled and sipped from a silver chalice brought by a servant who whispered something to him before he scuttled away. "I expect debauchery at its most grisly! Why are all of you still clothed?"
This aroused much laughter and many of the crowd stripped naked.
Ivanos had unsheathed his sword and found himself shoving through the crowd toward King Ingul with his sword discreetly held below eye level. Most seemed riveted on the king.
YES! YES! THIS IS OUR GLORY! I AM WITH YOU! I AM IN YOUR SWORD!
Ivanos emerged at the front of the crowd where the Red Wolf Knights stood guard with pikes held out in rest position. He felt the tingling vibration in his blade. He looked down at it and saw the blue lightning dancing up and down the edges.
"No," he said simply and backed away into the crowd. No one seemed to notice what he had almost done. He didn't know what he had almost done. He barely remembered drawing his sword, but he did know why, and it left him boiling with anger. He sheathed the sword, the lightning gone, the vibration ended. He turned around and pushed people aside, moving faster through the crowd of nightmarish faces. A feeling of disorientation came over him. He couldn't quite figure out which way it was back to the stables. "I am drugged," he said aloud. "The clairvoyant drugged me!"
Laughter and gleeful shouts came to him in response. His vision sparkled with tracers and spirals of the objects he tried to focus on, skulls, ghosts, specters, demons and men with long necks and red caribou heads with bloody antlers full of severed arms and heads.
He screamed, drawing his sword and decapitating one of the red caribou heads. It flew spiraling and broke apart when it hit the cobblestones on the castle road.
"Hey you fucking bastard!" The headless red caribou snapped at Ivanos.
He pulled back his sword for another swipe and realized he had only chopped off the head of a mummer's mask. The mummer's head was still safely inside.
The mummer removed what was left of the caribou neck and held up his hands. "Please, my lord! Mercy! I can make another mask! Apologies!" The mummer's voice was effeminate but Ivanos could not be sure about the gender. The mummer had a wide jaw and shadow of whiskers.
Ivanos pointed with his chin for the mummer to move on.
The mummer snatched up the pieces of caribou mask and ran down the cobblestone path cursing.
Ivanos sheathed his sword again and found his way back to the area where he believed he'd seen the stableman. That's when he saw Sir Haggis sitting at a wooden table with two others.
Sir Haggis recognized him at once and called out to him, "This way, my friend. Come have a drink with us. We have our own cask over here."
Ivanos made his way over. He felt that whatever Violet had given him in that fruity drink, it had begun to work its way through his system to a tolerable level. He sat down next to Sir Haggis.
"This is Sir Drairn and Sir Brewtor," said Haggis. "They put forth a brilliant idea for you to win your way into the Guardian Knights of Red Wolf, and I promise King Ingul will approve."
13
VENDRONIA
Vendronia walked alongside Varl Torvul as the newly appointed Crone Mother of the trog. They entered the city of Nodet and paraded down the main cobblestone street leading to the town square with the trog army following behind, looting through houses and shops. Every so often a courageous Nodet militia would spring out at the trog warriors as a last-ditch effort to protect the life they had grown to know as citizens of the Red Wolf Kingdom. They met quick deaths at the hands of a trog hammer or ax.
The city of Nodet's architecture had the simple rustic look known throughout many Red Wolf fishing towns. Most buildings and cottages stood on thick, knotted logs and rippled timbers sealed with grassy black mortar. The scent of fresh fish still sang in the air. Except for one feeble attempt at an ambush by a brave lone city militia, the city seemed deserted. Had word spread that fast of her black magic summoning? When she stepped out into the town square and found an old fishmonger trying to sack what remained of his catch of the day, she realized this must be the case. He screamed when he looked up and met eyes with her, dropped his bag of fish and ran away yelling, "The witch comes for me! The witch has come to Nodet! Run!"
Vendronia half-smiled. Before the dark stranger had granted her this new power, the only reaction to her appearance had been disgust at her skin being the color of blood. Having skin the color of your blood seemed normal enough to her. It seemed less natural to have pale or dark skin. The only thing she could see different about herself was that she was alone. She didn't know of any other bloodskins, though she had heard stories told of their existence in great number in ancient times.
"Look. They fear you, Vendrone," said Torvul, elbowing her. "We have a new strength to crush the cucks. The trogs are starting to call you The Spider Witch. I told them this is disrespectful. Your name is Vendrone."
"Actually, it's Vendronia," she told him.
"Vendronia. Really?" He tilted his head and curled his blond brows in disbelief. "No? Vendronia? Ha! I always called you stained girl! I only half remembered your name as Vendrone." He put his huge hand on her shoulder. "Maybe because you are so small." He giggled.
"I'm average height for most people in the known world," she affirmed.
"For most cucks, yes." He combed his beard that fanned out over his armored chest with his fingers. He patted her on the back and knocked the air from her lungs. "But you are trog, now!" He pinched his thumb and index finger close together. "Just a very small trog! Ha, Ha!" He kept laughing for a long while at that, his laughs echoing throughout the city.
Later, Vendronia sat with Torvul and Adon his sworn fist and several other high-ranking warriors among the trog at a feast they had rummaged together from the abandoned markets, pubs and wineries. She was the only one who comfortably fit up to the table in the large inn they had chosen. Still, the trogs looked a bit like they were having a tea party with children's furniture in a small-scale house, bumping their heads on the iron fixtures and ducking under door frames. Adon had on about fifty silver and gold necklaces fixed with rubies, diamonds, and sapphires left behind in shops by terrified jewelers. Even Adon had a hard time believing the mass evacuation. "I bet they were shitting themselves. I hope they brought an extra pair of trousers at the very least," he commented, holding up a necklace from a scattered pile next to the stack of five roasted chickens he had been gnawing on. His golden mustache glistened with grease.
Vendronia's swallowed and looked away seeing the serving maid. She remembered that being her a day before. She knew the girl, and they had become somewhat friends since she had been given to Torvul. Her name was Tiki. She had not said a word to her since the incident earlier, and she seemed as frightened of Vendronia as the fleeing citizens of Nodet. She made wide eye looks at Vendronia when she came near to fill her cup with wine. Vendronia responded pleasantly enough, "Thank you, Tiki!" The girl didn't seem to know what to say, so she would just make a petite bow and turn away.
"So, Vendronia," said Torvul, emphasizing the last syllable of her name. "What is your first advice to Varl Torvul as Crone Mother? It is your path the trog follow now."
"What?" she said. "What do you mean?"
"Tell us where we go now? Where should we raid?"
Adon nodded, chewing on a bite of chicken he had torn away from a breast. His hide helmet jingled where he had hung silver bracelets and gold charms on the row of shorn caribou antler tips going down the middle to his spine.
She thought for a few moments before answering. "I think we should not raid so quickly. We need to make Nodet a post for the trog and establish a presence here to make it part of the trog lands."
&nbs
p; "What?" Torvul said.
Adon giggled.
"Trog don't need land. We have enough with our homeland of Caribou Valley. We only come to raid and reap spoils with women. Cucks sit on the land and soften their hands with fishing poles and plows."
Adon stood up and used his sheathed sword to pretend to be fishing like a cuck and then put it on his crotch and stroked it and made it like he caught a fish. All the trogs in the room burst out in a roar of laughter. Adon was known for making playful and often vulgar jokes.
Vendronia smiled and shook her head. "No but listen. If I am the Crone Mother, you must at least heed my advice. Remember, it a curse to ignore. We should stay here for a short time and tend our wounds and repair our blades, so we can fight stronger. The people of Nodet will be scattered through the forest and caravaning to Red Wolf Keep for sanctuary. King Ingul will send his entire army for us then. We need to wait and plan. We should do what he does not expect. Maybe find some Nodet militia and ask them to serve the trog."
"This Crone Mother is a wild one," said Torvul to the trog around the table. "Cucks fighting with trog? How can this work?"
"If they choose to fight with trogs, they may live."
Adon scoffed. "Cucks will not fight with trogs! We killed their brothers and raped their women! They will stab us in our backs!"
"Not in the middle of a trog army they won't." Vendronia stood. She used her hands to accentuate her words by pointing and giving gestures for size. "Think about it. There are only a hundred or so militia left to defend Nodet, probably out in the forest waiting to catch us off guard in the night or waiting for more Red Wolf Knights to return to the fight. Standing below the shoulders of hundreds of trogs, do you think they would dare try to defeat us on the battleground with their pickaxes and clubs? Better they show their honor by serving the trogs in war. Perhaps some will come out alive and honor themselves by cutting down Red Wolf Knights."
"Hmm, maybe," said Torvul. "Maybe you are onto something. I will consider this while I sleep. I need rest for war. We can speak more on it at daybreak and I will give you my answer."
Varl Torvul ordered two trog warriors to find a comfortable room for Vendronia at the inn. He said no one was to share a room with the Crone Mother. She should have her own space with plenty of wine and bread to suit her and nice furs and feather pillows. She found it difficult to sleep. The sweats and shakes crept up on her. She luckily had a couple days' supply of the yage root to calm her anxiety. She kept seeing the spiders crawling out of her mucus and swelling in size. It made her stomach queasy to think about it. At last alone in her room, she had rinsed out her mouth in the wash pan left for her several times. She kept feeling the prickly hairs of the spider in her teeth, though she'd washed out her mouth. Out of twenty rooms she counted in the second story of the inn, the only trogs who chose to stay on the same floor as she were Varl Torvul, Adon, Tiki, and two other raid commanders named Borlin and Yurka. It seemed many found it uncomfortable being so near her while asleep or perhaps they didn't like going up the stairs built for people no taller than a little over six feet. Vendronia didn't know for sure. Many slept downstairs passed out drunk in the floor.
Before long, Vendronia herself staggered from intoxication. She had eaten more yage root than usual in personal celebration of her achievement. She began to hallucinate. The planks in the walls of her room undulated and warped. Soon, she found herself in a forest running with a pack of strange-looking red wolves. At first glance, they seemed like any other red wolves from the Red Wolf forests, but when she focused on them, something looked different about their coats. Instead of soft tufts of red fur with paler hues of cream-yellow on their bellies, their coats were made up of red barbs one might see on a porcupine or thorn bush. When they got excited, the scarlet quills stood up on their backs and rippled. They followed her everywhere she went, jumping and leaping through fallen trees and boulders. She beamed with joy, smiling and laughing. She tried to speak saying, "Let's hunt!" but it came out as a growl and a yelp. She heard the voice of the old Crone Mother in her head, "This is your gift from the bloodskin. You will come of age and bleed. Soon after, the wild of the bloodskin woman will reveal itself to you. Embrace it."
Is this what she meant? She led the pack to a cave. They seemed apprehensive to enter, pacing outside the entrance and belting concerned whimpers. She barked and howled at them before she ran into the cave. Deep within, she found two giant caribous sleeping across from one another on opposite walls of the cave.
Her mouth watered, drool stringing down the corners. She tore out their throats one after the other, their cries snuffed out by the slurp of blood-filled lungs. She tore out their eyes and howled with grandeur, inviting the pack to come join her, though none took her up on the invitation. She tore out their entrails and ate their hearts with vigor. She had never felt so fulfilled and complete.
Vendronia awoke the next morning at daybreak, sunlight beaming into her room and warming her face. She caught a scent of blood in the air and eased herself up on the bed, rubbing her eyes. Immediately, her eyes burned, and she knew something wasn't right. Her vision blurred with a fog of red. She blinked a few times and saw that her hands were wet but mostly crusted with dried sepia shades of blood. Huge stains of blood streaked like the frantic flutter of wings where she had thrashed with her arms in her sleep. Across the wooden floor, bloody footsteps led from the door to her bed. Her face and jaws felt sticky and encrusted with it.
"Torvul is dead!" came a shout from down the hall. "The Varl and his Fist have been slaughtered in their sleep! It is an omen! Wake the Crone Mother!"
Vendronia panicked. She didn't understand. Her dream. She bolted to the window and crawled out onto the rooftop tiles, huddling into a crevice out of sight from anyone who might be in the street. Her breathing became rapid. This was not gonna go well for her. She had done something, though she didn't see how. Was it the yage root? She didn't know for sure. She had to find a way to clean up before they found her.
14
KAZIMIR
Kazimir wiped sweat from his face with the tail of the purple turban on his head. He shifted in the saddle on the back of his camel as it plodded along, bobbing him about for over sixty miles now out of Belaz City. No amount of self-adjustment relieved his aching hips. Xolin, Nochtli and Gretta rode behind him on their way across the dunes in the southern Belaz desert towards Zexultan. The sky went on endlessly like blue glass above them and the sun showed no mercy. Kazimir had insisted they leave before sunrise for this very reason, though Xolin had been the source of many delays as always waiting until the last to pack his clothes and bathe. This wasn't the first expedition for certain and wouldn't be the last. He should've learned by now to prepare himself earlier, but some obviously never learned better. That's why Kazimir felt no pity for Xolin as the man kept fanning himself and complaining about the heat.
"How much farther would you say it is? Good heavens, I might melt before another mile!" Xolin said. He patted his hooked nose with a rag.
Kazimir turned back to face him. "See? Did I not warn you? We left an hour after sunrise! Now we all melt due to your lack of preparation. What compels you to procrastinate on such a level?" He faced forward, snorted, and flicked the reins on his camel. It hurried along a little farther up in the nearly head to tail caravan that had been going for a while.
"Oh my!" was all the response he heard from Xolin, though he could predict the faces he was making to Nochtli.
They had seen nothing change in the sea of dunes that stretched out before them except for the occasional perennial shrub or patch of canegrass, which, if they were lucky, offered a scattering of brown lizards. Gretta gave her camel a kick until she reined up beside Kazimir. "So? Before I ask you this, I want you to know I sincerely appreciate your generous payment for escorting you, but I must ask why it is so important to you to meet this bloodskin girl? She is extremely frightening and dangerous. What makes you think she won't kill you? And for that matter, what abou
t the trogs? No offense, but you're not exactly someone they would warm up to easily. They are quite a wild sort and very big."
Kazimir waited for his thoughts to assemble the best way to explain. "I have that covered. The skills I developed in the Belaz Hall of Alchemy have given me ways to create illusions that are quite convincing. The practice of alchemy in Belaz has advanced beyond simple healing salves and potions. We have long since entered the realm of apothecary, creating mixtures of powder and that influence the mind in all sorts of peculiar ways. The reason I must meet this woman is that I've been studying the ravnaz race for years now, believing them to be extinct. All the history books and scrolls I've unearthed in expedition tell me that they were all annihilated in a genocide conceived by my own ancestors. The ravnaz women were said to have a special kind of magic knowledge that allowed them to turn into some kind of beast when they reached the age of conception. Many would devour their husbands after copulating. It has been my lifelong passion to discover and study all forms of magic, known and long forgotten, and try to extrapolate the truths of their validity and try to use it for benefit to the Hall of Alchemy."
Nochtli cleared his throat after hearing Kazimir mention the Hall of Alchemy.
Gretta actually made eye contact for longer than a quick glance. "That's a lot to think about. So you think she can shapeshift? That sounds extraordinary. I highly doubt it, but I've seen some amazing things just recently watching you in your show." She smiled and darted her eyes away.
"Well, I'm not that great," Kazimir said, blushing. "And I'm certainly not the best at illusion. That was just a powder trick, really. One of the first you learn as a novice. I've just done it so often in shows I think I have a handle on it somewhat. Honestly, I still don't ever feel like I've mastered it. It's passable I suppose. To be completely honest, I was ejected from the Hall of Alchemy the very day of the show, so I'm without a job for the time being."
The Vanguards of Scion Page 8