Vegard knew what that meant. He couldn’t risk having that charmed cloth over his head again. Not while he finally had some power to work with. Uretta was likely to drain him before tending to his wounds—death or not.
Vegard felt the excess of Jorlag’s burning energy coursing through him. He released it all into his form. The soul energy instantly began its work, warming his body, picking at his bleeding wound, connecting the fibers that the sword had so quickly severed. The guards had him under the arms dragging him to the arena doors. He could hear the announcer bellowing about such an exciting “exotic battle”.
Vegard’s dark powers sealed his bleeding wound. He could feel sense flooding back to his thoughts, a crisp clarity of his surroundings, as the energy fixed his broken body. He peered ahead and saw the cage door just a few feet away, his handlers outside waiting to shove him back in his crate.
Won’t find a better time than now…Vegard thought, gritting his teeth.
He clamped his eyes shut and allowed the energy to surge through his entire form. Warmth filled him, strength flowed through every one of his tired muscles, giving them a vigor they haven’t felt since he was able to feed freely, before succumbing to slavery. The guards at his arms stopped in place. They no longer had the strength to pull the warlock further. Their murmurs of confusion were replaced by pure fear as they realized what was going on. Vegard wasted no time.
He slammed the two men together. A loud crush sounded out as the men’s bodies crumpled together and slid to the arena floor. Vegard dashed forward. The one guard there almost had the cage door shut but Vegard met it with his foot and bashed it back open. He scooped down and snagged the man’s short sword at his side before sprinting on his way through the busy festival grounds. Gasps and cries rang throughout the town center as the devilish shadow raced away at inhuman speed.
CHAPTER SIX
Escape
Vegard made a mad dash through the festival grounds in the city center of Dunesmir. His plan hadn’t been much past escaping the arena without the enchanted strap about his head. Now that he was outside and uninhibited, he had no clue what to do next. Villagers were shouting as he passed by. Men, women, and children screamed as if there was a wild boar loose. Vegard turned down alleyways, skirted down steps, climbed through windows. Anything to lose any pursuers that might be tracking him down.
Oddly enough, the influx of guests and attendees made it so much easier to find places to get lost in. He procured a thick wool coat with a fur-lined hood in one of the houses he had hid in, before slipping out onto the busy streets to blend in with the other festival goers. The sword he kept hidden in the coat, needing a sheath and not wanting to wield it openly in the crowd. Unless necessary.
Vegard followed the festival goers through the streets. He mimicked the herd with his eyes barely visible underneath the thick cloak.
His soul rode along on his shoulder and, apparently, entirely invisible to the townsfolk around him. “Keep to yourself, little one. It is your ass over the fire here, as well.” He whispered to his soul.
Vegard peered over the crowd. Guards were running frantically about the town. They pushed their way through the swaths of people, overturning carts, tackling mistaken individuals to the ground. Up on the roofs there were archers already in place. They scanned the crowd, supposedly looking for anyone suspicious, running, burning with demonic energy.
They organized so quickly. He thought anxiously. Vegard parted from the meandering group and slipped down another alleyway. He needed more equipment if he was going to survive outside the city. Boots, at least, if he wanted to keep his toes during the descent from the U’terella Mountain.
Vegard shimmied up the side of the stone wall building. His fingers fitting in the gaping crevices of the old structure, the short sword unnervingly tucked into his pants. Don’t want to lose my manhood along with my soul. At this point I don’t know which would be worse.
He pulled himself over the lip and crouched low. An archer was but a few feet away looking down at the crowd, completely unaware of the stalking warlock. The other rooftop guards were all distracted with other regions of their town. Vegard crept forward.
The archer was a lithe looking young man, agile looking but without bulk or definition. Skinny beneath his green woolen cape and matching cap.
Vegard grabbed the man around his face and pulled him backwards. They flopped violently on the rooftop, Vegard coiling his legs and arms around the archer like a snake choking the life from its prey. All the while, Vegard’s powers surged forth, drawing the life energy from his hapless victim.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Vegard whispered into the man’s ear, “let the darkness come. Your soul is not worth your life.” The man was wide eyed, terrified—for a few heartbeats—before feeling the exhaustion set in.
The sight of the warlock must have been terrifying to the young man. To watch his captor’s eyes darken with energy, to feel the hands that bound him grow thicker and stronger around him.
The archer shivered in the warlock’s grasp. His movements becoming less pronounced, until they stopped entirely.
It excited Vegard to use his powers so freely once more. It felt like stretching a muscle long gone crippled. He wanted to exercise this limb once more. The soul was like a man—it could be weakened, it could be snuffed entirely, and it could heal over time.
Vegard could drain a soul till its host blacked out, allowing his victim to live another day. A courtesy he delivered to this poor boy. The warlock’s true enemy was the lord Jogen, not his hired help.
“There you go.” He released the archer. “I thank you for the warmth. Now for your boots.”
Vegard was on the street again, new boots acquired, thicker leather britches, a light coin purse, and a bow with an almost full quiver of arrows. His hood was hefted over his head concealing his pale white visage and long, knotted black hair.
Guards were still everywhere, milling about, but the extremity of the search had gone down. Perhaps Jogen wanted the festival to continue. Not allow this little hiccup, like a slave escaping, to ruin his reputation in the eyes of the other mountain lords. Perhaps. Jogen was a prideful man but he was also a man of commitment and distraction.
He will hunt me down till the end of days. Vegard knew this to be true. But, maybe, not today.
He made his way to the eastern gate of Dunesmir leading to the Rimewood Forest. The exit to the town was heavily guarded, to Vegard’s dismay. A quick count of ten armed guards, a Visi captain of the guard on horseback, and a couple more archers.
Vegard loitered near another slave holding area as he pondered. Another stables renovated for the fair. The men inside were a rugged bunch of savages, probably recently captured and sold. One of the many lords’ slave fodder. There were still two days of the End of Autumn festival to go. This lot must have been waiting their turn, all holed up together, marinating in anger and despair.
“Lookin’ to place a bet, sir?” A fat bearded fellow said to Vegard. “This is Lord Jef’s bunch o’ slaves. Waiting for the ten man skirmish tomorrow eve.” He banged on the doors. “Across the way is Lady Voura’s. They’re skinnier than this lot but fit like horses. Probably more fer pleasure than anything!” He laughed.
Vegard kept his hood low, brushed by the man, and sauntered to the front of the cages. The men inside cursed at him. They banged on the bars and spit at the disguised runaway. “They are lively!” The fat man continued. “My money is on them for sure!”
“How much to place a bet?” Vegard asked, deepening his voice, although for what reason, he wasn’t sure. Wasn’t likely any here knew what he sounded like.
“An across the board bet? Anything will do. Mark here, a mark there. Get double back…” He continued on with all the different types of bets, the ratios, and winnings.
Vegard reached into his coin pouch and handed the man a fist full of coppers he had gotten from the archer, not a rich man, it would seem. “Lord Jef for t
he win but with a lose of two.” Vegard said.
The man took the money and pulled out his ledger to place the bet. “Jef’s lot. Two dead, alright. Name?”
“Erron Tumblestone.” The first name to come to mind. Was a young boy he knew once. A slave, like himself, beaten to death in the arena during his first week. A brutal life for someone so young. A little vengeance in your name, Erron.
The man busied himself writing out the betting ticket. “I will check out the stock as you write.” Vegard stated.
“Right ahead.” The man didn’t look up as Vegard made his way to the front door of the cages. He examined the prison. A simple lock and chain around thin iron bars.
“Wanna bet on us? I bet I could tear you limb from limb, little man!” One of the slaves threatened. “How much you wanna bet on that?” He laughed.
Vegard lifted his blackened gaze at the man. The slave balked and stumbled backwards. “Don’t go losing that bluster already.” Vegard smirked. “I bet all I have!” He slid his sword from under his coat and wedged it between the iron chains. With a burst of dark energy to his muscles, Vegard twisted the sword, rotating the chains and snapping the flimsy links away.
“Hold on! Whatcha doin!?” The man with the betting ledger yelled, dropping his papers to the floor.
Vegard swung the gate open and stepped back as the ten slaves stalked their way out of imprisonment. They heeded the warlock with caution. Everything else…they made true to their threats.
Like a dam shattered, the slaves burst from the stables like a torrent of pent up rage and retribution. Townsfolk within arms reach were dragged down, pummeled and destroyed. The men and women went about turning over vending carts, stealing ale, chasing villagers around with whatever weapons they could acquire.
Vegard stood in the shadows of it all, watching his deed unfold in all its impromptu brilliance. As a slave fighter, he would’ve enjoyed joining in the carnage, but he had godly deeds that needed to be attended to. His soul twinkled next to him, although, the warlock could not tell if the little blue pearl condoned his actions. More than likely they were on the same page. It was his soul, was it not?
As predicted, the guards of the eastern gate broke from their duty and immediately charged into the fray, looking to squelch the meager slave uprising. Vegard skirted the havoc and slipped out the barren eastern gate. He gave Dunesmir one last glance before tossing his hood up to guard against the brisk autumn winds, trotting ahead into the frosty wooden mountain terrain of the Rimewood Forest.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Through the Rimewood
In the nights since Flaro Rei’Lind, the goddess, had visited him demanding the task of snuffing the expansion of some tyrant god, Vegard had wondered where his feet should carry him. To the eastern continent of Temuria, yes, of course, where the lord merchant resided. But how would he get there? What was he to do with the limited power he had? These questions had plagued his mind. Yet, one place, from the warlock’s past, continued to manifest in his mind. Was it a sign? Did he even believe in such things? Why not? The gods had visited him just a handful of nights before. Why not believe the whims and musings of prophecy?
Mrkyr Brodir. He thought. The land of witches and warlocks, in the depths of the Dark Forest. During the Ander Wars it is where he first encountered the dark brotherhood. It is there he learned, but a little, the ways of weaving soul magic. It was how he became a warlock to begin with. And it was there his feet carried him now. The only place that could possibly prepare him for the celestial feat set upon him.
It would take him several days traveling east through these dangerous mountainous woods to come across their village. A terrain plagued with the appearance of giants in the perpetual misty sheet of winter, unruly frost sprites, and, somewhere amongst the U’terella Mountains, Yefen Ter’U, the hoarfrost troll prince.
Damn you, gods! Vegard screamed in his head, arms wrapped around himself. This soul of mine better be damned worth it.
As the days passed the energy Vegard had siphoned was leaving him. He held its warmth for as long as possible but still it leaked away. It evaporated and went where ever it was it went after leaving him. Vegard had no clue. His lessons with the dark brotherhood were those of martial skill, not philosophy or alchemy. He had never even thought to care. The only thought on his mind at the moment was a desperate need for warmth and a stomach that needed tending to.
He hadn’t eaten since the morning of the arena combat. Vegard gritted his teeth to the biting wind that pushed its way through the Rimewood. I have become dependent as a child. I would put an axe in Jogen’s face…but at least there were meals. I had a roof over my head. A blanket. Being free means I have to attend to my own needs.
“I must thank you, Flaro! Do you hear me, goddess!?” He screamed up the mountain. “Freedom tastes much like starvation and cold winds!” Vegard’s soul bobbed next to him, emitting light that never illuminated a thing. An ethereal glow that shun for him alone.
“I cannot tell if you are on my side or not, little one.” It chimed lightly. A sound Vegard assumed he could only hear. “Can you do anything useful?” He tapped it. “Go! Find food!” He patted his legs and pointed to the forest, mimicking training a farm animal or dog. The soul merely continued to bob and emit its little blue light.
“Hmm…Perhaps I am still to dirty to regard, yeah? How valorous do I have to be to shove you back into my body?” Vegard grunted and pushed forward mumbling. His boots sunk several inches in the deep snow. Each step like wadding through ocean waters.
“I saved those slaves, didn’t I?” He continued to ramble, head low and shivering. “They would’ve been forced to slaughter one another for profit. I gave them freedom. What do I have to be, little one, to earn your respect again? A virhyl!? A saint!?” He laughed aloud.
He knew he must sound like a man gone mad. But what did the thoughts of others matter when freezing and alone on a mountain? Crazy could possibly ignore the dire situation he found himself in. Sane folk may, reasonably, succumb to the perils they found themselves in.
I’ll wear this crazy like a shield.
A few hours passed and the snow began to die away. Vegard felt solid earth beneath his woolen boots once again. His legs burned terribly. His breath came out in jets of steam and his nose ran down his chin.
The fluttering of animals was about now. Oh, finally. Vegard sighed heavily. He pulled the bow around and notched an arrow as he made his way forward. There were a few birds to be heard high in the trees but Vegard could not spot them. The trees were bare at the base and grew up into the distant sky. The foliage above was much too high to spot anything worth shooting.
He continued forward as he must. If one was lost or without hope, merely step forward and continue on. You were bound to find something, eventually. Death if naught else.
His notched arrowhead led the way. He tiredly moved forward. Every fiber of him was exhausted and burned out. The lower altitude of the mountain did little to warm the emptiness inside him. That vacant hole where, he assumed, his soul was supposed to sit.
A noise sounded up the hill to his left. Vegard whipped that direction and fired as quickly as his reflexes would allow. The arrow found its home in the shaggy hair of a bander goat, right in its leg. The creature, who had stopped at a stream, attempted to hop away but collapsed. It heaved itself up again, almost readying itself for combat. Its long twisted horns balancing themselves toward its opponent.
Vegard excitedly hopped forward. He notched another arrow and loosed it. The creature was felled between the eyes. Vegard could hardly believe his luck. He hadn’t held a bow in some ten years. His only use in the war had been with sword and magic. The latter of which only having been taught to him during the tail end of that campaign.
Vegard went about making his fire. His training as a wandering mercenary came back to him quickly. His sword crafted the ‘wood raft’, his stick wedged into the groove he had carved out. The bander g
oat’s dead black eyes watched from whatever plane of existence it had traveled to as the warlock gathered wood dust and worked the stick to smoke and spark. A pile of dried moss caught to burning and Vegard quickly added the kindling.
Vegard leaned back and laughed mockingly at fate. “Not today, you foul bitch! Not today.”
The prep of the goat meat was rushed but effective. He took the leg, leaving the rest for later…if the other predators in this forest wouldn’t get to it first.
The goat was the best he could ever remember having. Although, it was more than likely an empty stomach that added the sense of spice to the unseasoned meat. He had been so lost of thought while eating he hadn’t noticed the sun fall behind the tall mountains and the thick fog come creeping into his camp.
Night has fallen already? Better snuff this fire before I lead a search party right to me.
Vegard buried his small cooking fire in dirt and began prepping a hole for his kill, as well. Hoping to save some for the morning journey.
He dug into the earth with hands till the compact dirt and rocks became too much, then he brought sword to bear. The chill of night bore in. The wetness of the air around him was almost tangible. Vegard could barely see but a few feet from his campsite. He tugged his cloak tighter around his body and continued to pry at the ground.
BOOM! The ground shook. Vegard jolted upright, casting his hood down and looking around the forest. The Rimewood was quiet as a graveyard. Eerily, not even the sound of flighted creatures could be heard. Reflexively Vegard checked to see if his soul was still there or if it had flown off to cause him more grief. The pearl hung where it had above his shoulder.
What was that sound, then… He thought, his heart beating feverishly in his chest. BOOOM! The ground shook violently once more. An avalanche, perhaps? No, not down here and so sporadic. Instinctively Vegard brought his sword up and found refuge behind a grouping of trees away from his campsite. If he was being tracked he wanted to make distance from himself and the fire he once had.
A Forgotten Soul: The Vegard Orlo Saga Page 5