The Chronicles of Crallick

by Brad C Baker

Scared out of his proverbial tree, Glip-Glip peeked back over the top of the ziggurat. He saw the dire straights that Izzy was in. He saw Drake’s misfortune. He saw Kittalae’s endeavors. He couldn’t see anyone trying for the man leading the ceremony. So, keeping as low to the ground as his agile and small body would allow for, Glip-Glip began to stalk towards the man in the middle of the temple carnage.

  Realizing his Nekomin mage was the cadaver burning on the temple roof, Eli threw a throwing axe into the chest of an aquan girl. This split her sternum, and when the axe fell back out with her convulsive jerk, it was accompanied by a warm spray of arterial blood.

  Dropping his bow and calling his sword to his hands, Crallick yelled, “Would you just stop it? It’s over! You can’t finish the ceremony. I’ve slain the dragon, I’ve slain almost all of your men! If you don’t stop, I’ll add you to the list!” Crallick was menacingly striding forwards while uttering these words.

  “No you won’t!” Eli countered. Then he continued chanting.

  “What’s the point? You no longer have any servant to control!” Crallick persisted.

  “You think there is only one servant? Fool!” Eli barked a short laugh. “Besides, my mistress has more important designs than what can be impacted by a good-loving knight-ranger of Bannathyr.”

  No one noticed, in the heat of the exchange, the tiny froggle’s eyes widen in alarm as something didn’t feel right. Nor did anyone notice the dark shimmering of ancient evil magic as the ziggurat’s harnessed power drank the life energy from Glip-Glip. Even Glip-Glip felt no pain, he simply weakened and became still, then was no more.

  Kittalae released another girl. This one was a fire ephemorae. She fled to the south to join the other girls.

  With his sword firmly gripped by the Komodoman, Izzy watched with a detached hysteria as his arm was rended from his body at the shoulder by one massive cleave. Blood began spurting from the open and jagged gash where his arm had been. His left arm stabbed his remaining cutlass at his nemesis. This too, was ineffectual.

  Crallick began to pick up his speed towards the maniacal priest. “Stop this now!” he raged.

  “You can’t kill me even if you want to, my desperate friend,” Eli grinned as he fished out another throwing axe. “You know my ship that I abandoned? Chess’s Blight?”

  “Yeah, we seized her!” Crallick boasted.

  “Well that’s convenient!” Eli practically chortled. “That lacquer I sealed her with is a ‘salve of souls’. Should my life energy leave, then every soul on that ship shall accompany me to Chessintra’s throne room. You would be willing to commit mass murder, my goodly knight ranger?” As if to punctuate his point, Eli let fly an axe that split a Vitani’s face in two, just to the right of the impaled Erik.

  With a feral growl welling up in his guts, Crallick charged. A mere five paces into his charge, time seemed to dilate for him. An acute awareness of his environment seeped into his being.

  Kittalae was freeing another girl. A tiny jaragua lizardman.

  Izzy had just been disarmed by the Komodoman. He was beginning to fall to the stones, his blood coming with all the other effluvia.

  Erik was trying to stay conscious.

  The cat was creeping into the edge of the pools of torchlight.

  Finally he noticed an unearthly, grave chill seeping through his bones; as though something was trying to sap his life energy through the soles of his feet. Then he perceived her: flitting around the edges of his vision, whispers on the cusp of his hearing, scents at the perimeter of his olfactory sense, a tickle at the back of his taste buds. She was like an idea he could barely grasp.

  Her intentions were clear: malice and amusement. She had black skin. Crowning her head was darker hair that bore no luster. Silver teeth decorated her smile. Her eyes were silver orbs with black irises. Or perhaps they were only pupils. It was impossible to say. Her hushed and melodic words reached out to him, “My dear sweet Crallick. You have grown so cantankerous over the years. I was beginning to suspect you would drink yourself across my threshold. Instead, I see you back reaving souls for my halls like a demon possessed. You even sent me a great dragon. My servant Eli is right about some things. I reward those who are good to me. And no, a mere knight-ranger cannot undo my plans. However, he finds himself erring with two things. First, his importance to me is not so much. And second, I don’t want your soul yet. You have too much work to do yet. Keep your life energy. May Zereah smile on you.”

  With that registering as nothing more than a phantom of a dream, Crallick felt the draining effect fade away with the ghost. The next heartbeat took him into the hallowed sanctuary. This put Eli right in his wheelhouse.

  “Last chance you sick…”

  “…or you’ll what?” Eli interrupted. “You’re a knight-ranger. Champion of good. Kill me and innocents will die.” He turned his back to Crallick and aimed at the sacrifice Kittalae was freeing.

  The way Crallick saw it, innocents would continue to die if this gob-hole lived. “I’m retired,” he growled as he drove his serrated blade to the hilt through Eli’s tattooed spine. There was a pulse of malicious energy that radiated out from Eli.

  Eli twitched on Crallick’s blade, spasmed, and spat out globs of mucous-filled blood. No utterances left his body, only fluids.

  Kittalae had worked her way over to where Erik was impaled. She began trying to help him off of the girl and made sure the invasive blade came with Erik. She kept apologizing that she wasn’t a healer like Wanda, but she’d get him back to her as soon as she could. Kittalae was so wrapped up with her task, she never saw the Komodoman bearing down on her with the raised jawbone.

  In a dark orange blur, the cat leapt on the Komodoman’s head, its fangs deeply sinking into the back of the lizardman’s throat. As its hind legs raked the length of its prey’s back, leaving wet sticky ribbons, its front paws clung to the armpit and shoulder, hooking claws deeply into the flesh. There was an audible grinding crunch as the vertebrae in the Komodoman’s neck broke and then severed the spinal cord. The whole pile of fur and scales fell into a noisy heap only feet behind a terrified Kittalae.

  “Oh my God! Skyurr save me!” she screamed. Then when she saw the red smeared face looking up at her, rumbling contentedly, she added, “Oh. It’s you. Well uh, thank you….” Then after regaining her breath, she concluded with a “Good kitty.”

  “Daddy?” Amalae wasn’t sure she could trust her judgment. “Daddy? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, my sweetheart. It’s me.” His foot forced Eli’s body off the blade with a meat tearing squelch. The stench of iron and offal hung dense in the jungle air. “Daddy’s got you.” His blade rose and fell four times against the chains. Each strike producing a shower of sparks and a severed chain. He bent to gather up his daughter, who scurried away as far as the altar top would permit her.

  “Oh daddy, I’m sorry,” her almond eyes were wide in repulsion. “I know you’ve just gone through the furnace for me, but please…” she swallowed, “have you seen yourself?”

  “What in Jyslin’s creation are you on about, girl?” Crallick’s temper was quickly rising. His adrenaline from the day’s battle not quite ready to give up its foothold in his body yet. “I haven’t seen you for nearly a year, and I’ve been worried sick!”

  “I know. I know…” How could she tell him just how foul he smelt, and how much gore was covering him? Instead, she tried to change tact. “But,” she blushed for good measure… “I’m naked daddy.”

  “Oh.” The uncomfortable awkwardness of the realization slowly pounded through his brain. “OH!” Quickly, a baffled Crallick swiftly searched around and came up with Eli’s fur cloak. “Here,” he roughly shoved the article at his daughter.

  “Thanks daddy.” She then put it on. Armored with this, she gingerly hugged her father. “Thanks so much.” They stood in their fond embrace for long moments.

  Kittalae meanwhile, had busied herself with securing the rest of the area. She had all the girls exce
pt for Amalae in one place. The injured mortani woman was with Erik, holding the sword blade in place. The cat had finished eating its fill of kill and was rubbing up against the back of Crallick’s legs.

  “Quit it,” Crallick growled at the beast after the third bump almost knocked him and his daughter over.

  “Is that ours?” Amalae asked, curiously.

  “Apparently,” Crallick conceded.

  “I thought you didn’t like pets,” Amalae was confused.

  “I don’t,” Crallick sighed. “I saved it from a dragon so it got confused and started following me around. It’s too old to really be trained for anything useful.” Glancing down, Crallick mumbled, “I don’t even know what kind of cat you are.”

  “The locals call the striped cat a ‘tiger’. I think they are afraid of them,” Amalae reported.

  “How do you know that?” Crallick asked.

  Scoffing, Amalae replied, “With you as my father, you didn’t think I wasn’t learning all I could so I could try to escape?”

  Crallick laughed. “Good girl. Now let’s get going.”

  Izzy Nunez had bled out before Kittalae could get to him. The bodies were left on the crown of the ziggurat of death. This somber tribute to Chessintra was nothing more than thanking her for not taking them as well.

  Dawn’s grey hues were drifting through the canopy by the time they had made their way back to the fallen dragon. They had found the broken body of Gregor, who had passed some time in the night. He had fallen about ten feet too far away. By the time Hullaboo had found him while relieving himself, it had been too late.

  The girls helped the broken-legged bull froggle hobble along. A few others carried a stretcher built from a cloak and some thin branches that held Bargress, who still seemed to cling to life. The blinded Armon was led by the arm through the path back to the tribal pygmy village.

  At their return, the cannibal halflings rejoiced at seeing the return of one of their own. Crallick was promptly given the chieftain’s favorite daughter to wed. Erik pointed out that they were far too outnumbered and too weak to argue.

  “Just take the damned bride, and annul it at sea if you can’t deal with it,” He said.

  The several long days back to the coast was made a little easier by the throng of pygmies who brought along supplies, the bulk of the butchered dragon, and trading goods. Such as the red energy-giving Jewel of Jyslin, as Crallick called it. The natives called it coffee. They made the beach in better shape than when they had left the ziggurat.

  What they found at the beach was worse than what they had left at the ziggurat.

  There had been two lean-tos constructed from sail canvas and mangrove roots. Of the Chess’s Blight, there was no sign. The derelict hull of the storm and battle weary Flamerunner still held its lonely vigil over the mouth of the bay.

  They were greeted by Tandi’s squat dwarven frame rushing over towards them, along with Wanda, who’s gait belied a great deal of fatigue.

  “By all that’s holy! Ye made it! I was suren’ you all died when the Blight went up inna’ ball o’ black lightning.” She sniffled, “Kilt’ everyone aboard.”

  Crallick’s eyes darkened. “Everyone?”

  “Aye,” Tandi nodded.

  Wanda got to them. Huffing lightly, she added, “Tandi and Argent were taking their watch ashore when it happened. We were housing the sick and injured on the beach. It made life a little easier for Syllethra.” She glanced back at the battered team. “You all look like you’ve seen better days too. Syll is in the farther tent.” She looked at Crallick curiously, unsure whether he had heard her. His eyes didn’t look focused.

  He thought he could hear the dark goddess laughing.

  “Wanda!” squealed Amalae.

  “Oh my goddess, how you’ve grown. I’m so glad to see you, my dear. Let’s all get you cleaned up,” Wanda exclaimed.

  “Excuse me?” A dawven maid tugged at Wanda’s arm. “Is my father here? My name is Bekka Ironforge.”

  Smiling for the first time in quite a while, Wanda gestured and said, “First tent.” Then she watched joyfully as the young dwarf ran off calling, “Papa! Papa!

  Epilogue

  “With a cloak of drake wing, Crallick soon departed

  Carnage-born, Drakeslayer, and Crallick the cruel,

  All titles to him, the bards justly imparted.

  He used each as a badge for retirement's fuel.”

  Verse 17: Ballad of Ser Crallick Carnage-born

  It had taken them nearly two tenday, and the help of the Halfling tribe, to make the Flamerunner seaworthy again. This was accomplished after they made a monument to their fallen with the names of those lost etched into a stone upon the beach.

  Crallick’s grim sensibilities convinced Vlados as the founding captain to name the bay Bloodbath Bay. Begrudgingly, Vlados relented and did so, perhaps half thinking they’d never survive the trip back to civilization to have to report it to anyone.

  Under the combined care of Wanda’s divine healing and Syllethra’s chichurgical skills, all of their casualties made remarkably swift, and for the most part, complete recoveries. Those who had permanent failings were made comfortable.

  Crallick’s ribs had healed perfectly. Other than that, he remained unscathed, except for his liver and his peace of mind. When Amalae confronted him about owning a slave, and having a bride, and a tiger? What kind of man was he turning into? She was almost sixteen now. No, Crallick was fairly certain his peace of mind was a casualty, never to be regained.

  Other than her prosthetic hand, Kittalae was completely healthy.

  Erik was projected to make a complete recovery. So were Vlados Ironforge, Brom Corr, Hullaboo, and Wanda Swells

  Syllethra, Tandi Burrowwell, and Argent Quinthee were all likewise healthy.

  Bargress Trothe was stable and occasionally became conscious. His recovery would be both long, and in the hands of the gods.

  Armon Faulk lost his eyesight. His hands recovered except for the missing fingers on his right hand.

  Finally, Lawrence Marley felt happy and peaceful. He never realized he was a shadow of the man he used to be. His eyes were as good as ever, and he loved to patiently play eye-spy.

  It was some time in the early high winter months that they decreed themselves ready to brave the trip back home. The thirteen rescuers, nearly two months after landing on the beach of Bloodbath Bay, were finally leaving the newly discovered lands.

  The thirteen surviving rescuers bolstered their ranks with the seven surviving maidens, ten pygmies, and one now three-foot-long tiger.

  Vlados found Crallick on deck the morning they decided to leave. “Hey there. How are you doing? You haven’t been very talkative since your foray into the jungle.”

  “Hmmph,” Crallick agreed.

  “Your daughter and your slave seem to be hitting it off really well,” Vlados offered.

  Sparing him a sidelong glance, Crallick growled, “Pushing your luck.”

  “Humph,” Vlados snorted. “Maybe I am. But you have to remember that girl loves you, my friend. Really she does.”

  “I know, she’s my daughter.”

  “I was talking about the other one,” Vlados corrected.

  “Oh,” Crallick grumbled. “I guess. But what can I do? I’m apparently married. And besides, she’s too young.”

  “Fah!” Vlados spat in contempt. “My arse! Bend over and ye may find some more excuses hiding up that skirt o’ yers. I thought it ‘twer the hill dwarves who wore kilts, not the Bannathyr Vitani.”

  Crallick let the slurs roll off his back as he scratched the ears of his tiger.

  “What I’m saying, my friend, is that you’ve suffered enough. Jyslin knows you deserve to enjoy some things for a change. What do you say? Shall we get home so you can finally relax and enjoy some peace and female company?”

  Crallick felt himself begin a smile at his friend’s shenanigans. “How about you get me home before we run out of rum and I kill everyone on t
he ship.”

  Vlados laughed good-naturedly. “There you go! I knew you had some mirth left in you somewhere. Let’s away then.” Walking off, he bellowed. “Weigh anchor, my lads! Mr. Hullaboo set course east, by northeast!”

  “Who was joking?” asked Crallick as he looked down at his feline companion.

  THE END

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue