Vegard sliced the bow in two, sending a set of fingers to the wind, before kicking the man from his perch and casting him to the streets below.
Vegard didn’t need to check the crumpled form of the archer to know he was dead. He could sense the distance of the soul from its twisted corpse. His focus was on the tavern that lighted the dark streets. His eyes were suddenly drawn to another gruesome sight. A head, devoid of body, was stuck on a pike outside the main doors.
Vegard already knew who it belonged to. Baron Fisk, the owner and their landlord, was murdered. His head taken more than likely for having housed the bandits and fugitives of Darold Shaw. A grim sign to any of those that cared to look upon it.
How did they find us? It was all so sudden. Armored and mighty foes, blazing fires, and death had descended upon them in an instant. It was too much to wrap his brain around. A routine pillage turning deadly with a hand they hadn’t seem coming.
Vegard brought his focus back to the present. He hadn’t the time to analyze their blind arrogance. He didn’t even have the time to check about the parameter for more threats. Everything he owned was burning away within the Sweaty Seafarer.
He jumped from the roof, snagged a window ledge and swung to the street. Now was not a time for sanity.
With his hood set high, drenched in rain, Vegard darted past the decapitated head of Fisk, and through the main entrance of the burning inferno.
Inside was much as he expected. Tables, chairs, support beams, walls, and chairs were all burning brightly. Vegard had to keep a constant stream of energy pulsing just to keep the licking flames at bay and his eyes clear of the thick smoke.
He rounded the bar and burst his way through to the storage area. The shelves inside were much the same as the main room. Cheap wooded shelves and rows of barrels and supplies smoldered.
Vegard tore a keg open and dumped the contents to the floor. The cheap ale washed over the flame enough for Vegard to grasp the red hot iron loop that hid his basement dwelling away.
Searing pain rushed up his arms. Memories of the grotto forge flashed in his mind as the familiar sound of searing flesh crackled beneath his fingers.
Embers fell from above the warlock. Wood groaned as the integrity of the building was giving way. The distant sound of support beams tumbling drove Vegard’s determination onward. His mind set on escaping to his hideaway or being buried with it.
The trapdoor slowly began to give. Vegard screamed in pain and fury as he tore the latch open, rolled inside, and slammed the damned thing shut behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Gather Your Things
Vegard secured the door shut to his hideout and threw his bandit mask aside. He scrambled to find protective runes and placed them all around the door.
He wasn’t sure if they would ward off fire. He was damn sure they wouldn’t. But his mind was too flustered to think rationally.
The chenway was barking its high pitched bark. The ruckus of the little dog reminded Vegard of where he was. He glanced quickly around the room and then sighed before collapsing to the floor.
The fire hadn’t taken the place. The underground basement was built into the earth itself. It was not constructed of wood like the rest of the tavern—although the roof was and like to give at any moment.
His hands pressed against his skull as if to squeeze the juices of an answer forth.
“Mohin!” He screamed, his tangled air whipping about. “Speak to me now, you old bastard! Or…Flaro! Show yourself, woman! I’m in need of…” But he wasn’t sure. If he could be granted a wish what would it be? A weapon, an ally, a direction? All would be grand. Perhaps he just wanted his soul back. Then he could be done with this ridiculous godly request.
But Wera would still be captured.
The raven squawked as the image of his companion flashed in his mind.
“Wera.” Vegard whispered. The nuisance of the emotional girl had been a thorn in his side since he first met her. Constantly ridiculing, correcting, and scoffing at him. But she had become a trusted companion. And perhaps the closest thing to a friend he’d ever had.
The little chenway nipped at the arrow shaft still sticking from the warlock’s shoulder. Vegard had forgotten about the annoying protrusion. He snapped it at the base and willed his healing powers to push the arrowhead out.
He still had a bit of the berserker’s energy writhing within him. Although, most had been expended reaching the hideout and protecting his body from the flames.
The fox mask was laying next to him on the cavern floor. The bottom half broken off up to the mouth. He grasped the mask, starring deeply into its empty eyes, the white tear drop dotted below.
He grunted and placed the mask over his face, pushing himself up from the floor.
Vegard looked at himself in the mirror. A mirror Wera and him had bought for more money than either had ever collectively had in their lives. The wood frame was, supposedly, from eastern Temuria and fashioned in a foreign style he couldn’t even pronounce.
The ash of the burning Seafarer rained around him. Little bits of his safe place fell and died away on his armor.
His reflection was that of a monster. His long, knotted hair, his black leathers and husky animal cloak, the half broken fox mask, and charred hands.
Vegard, the demon warlock, was what many a nightmares looked like.
I bit at society and society bit back. He took a deep breath. But nightmares do not die.
“I was doing this for you, Flaro Rei’Lind.” Vegard said aloud. “But now…I have my own reasons to move forward.” He stared hard into the mirror as if making a promise to the self he saw there. A witness.
“I will save Wera—my friend. I will crush this paladin under my heels and feast upon his pious soul.” His eyes steamed with black intensity. His breath billowed smoke as if he were an ancient dragon. “And the lord merchant, Darold Shaw, will feel the bite of my blade and understand the true price of his greed!”
Vegard’s soul was pulsing a vibrant blue beside him. “You are ready too, then?”
Vegard scooped Chenway into a pack he hefted over his shoulder. He gathered as much gold as his pack would allow. If it wasn’t for the coursing power in his veins he might have slumped at the sheer weight of the treasure on his person.
Still, so much was being left behind. The many carpets and clothes, the tapestries, and crowns. Enough jewelry that it would make nobles blush was strewn about the bandit’s hideaway—its fate to be buried in a cindering tavern on a tier for peasants.
This place would be picked to nothing within a week’s time. It did not matter. Gold and blood were all that the warlock needed. The tiny dog was a sort of afterthought. Vegard would save his friend. And she would be none too pleased if she found out that Vegard had abandoned the pathetic little thing.
The roof was beginning to give. Chunks of wood cascaded around the stolen opulence that decorated the abode. Heavy tables burst through the floor of the main room and tumbled down before the warlock. Fire was to take it all.
Everything that had become familiar to Vegard was lighted with flame and falling down upon his head.
Shit.
He’d stuffed his pockets with all the loot he could. Vegard grabbed the wild raven and ushered him and his pets out the escape route of the cavern. He wound through the tunnel and exited out to the small alcove that had been Wera and his planning spot next to the beach.
The cliffside hid the destruction that lay behind him. Their ‘porch’ just as picturesque as he had left it last.
“I am sorry, bird.” Vegard lamented as he set the raven cage down. “I have only so many arms.” He opened the cage and set the bird free. The warlock watched the bird flutter away wishing his escape could be so easy.
But he was chained to the earth and to the all the mortal rules that that entailed.
Chenway squirmed around in Vegard’s pack. “Keep still, beast. We have a long night ahead of
us.”
The coast was clear of danger. The waves washed up to lap at his feet. Such a contrast of peace and stability to the events of the night.
Vegard began his swim.
This beach beyond the hideout was more of a sanctuary than any sort of viable escape route. The warlock would need to swim to reach the docks of Dawns Fero. He could see the city’s ships docked just around the corner of the jutting cliffs of Yessriel.
The chenway kicked around in the pack, its whimpering expected. Vegard tried his best to keep his back elevated above the water to keep the little dog from going frantic.
“It’s no…,” He swam against the current, “easy task for me…” His breath coming in spurts. “…Little one!”
More and more Vegard was thankful for the power still within him. Any normal man would have been dashed against the cliffside by the force of the ocean waves.
But his demonic strength ushered him forward. Each wave was but another foe that needed to be overcome. Minor victories on his way to solid ground.
Vegard rounded the corner of the cliff and allowed himself a rest on the large rocks sticking out from the ocean. The waves relentlessly beat against his weary legs. The rain was still coming down in sheets. It was a miracle he had seen the docks at all from the hidden alcove.
He untied his pack and made sure his little creature was okay. The fat-headed dog looked up at the warlock with its large black eyes. It was shivering, soaked, but otherwise in oddly good spirits.
“Most definitely broken.” Vegard smiled as he gave a few comforting pats to the dog’s head, before shoving it back down inside and making the last go of this aquatic trip.
Vegard swam the last length of his journey. The support beams of the docks grew larger and larger as the warlock kicked his legs furiously. He coasted beneath the pier, pushing himself away from the barnacled beams that rose from the waters—knowing that an unruly wave could have him crushed against them.
He snagged at a tattered net that dangled over the edge of the docks, holding himself steady.
There were many ladders about. Any one of them would carry him up to—
Vegard felt a chill run through his body. A familiar force that echoed from within. A ‘taste’. A sense.
He reached down to it and let it guide his material form. Vegard was compelled to the closest ladder. He grabbed hold and sprinted upward, coming upon the docks in a crouch.
Many ships lined the harbor. Their tall masts sticking up like a thick forest of leafless trees. The normal stream of sailors and workers was gone. An eery calmness set upon the average bustle of the dockside that never slept. The only noise was the constant pattering of rain on wood and stone.
Yet, Vegard felt it urgent to keep his head low. The voice within him uncomfortable and dangerous, whispering to him in the storm.
He crept up the pier and stuck his head around a swaying merchant vessel that was anchored there.
Down the pier men were gathered with torches.
Vegard’s breathe caught as he noticed a group of workers loading an iron cage onto one of the sea vessels. A vessel that appeared more prepped for a naval battle than for shipping goods. It flew a crimson and gold flag. A white symbol of a golden torch with six white wings embroidered on it.
Wera! The warlock gasped.
In the cage was his friend. Her neck was bound in a thick steel collar with many chains webbing out to all sides of the box. She was heavily injured. Barely able to lift her head with the weight of her restraints.
The guardian in gold was not far off. He stood atop the ship like a great statue carved from bronze. His massive great-axe resting on his back. The wary workers loaded the cargo, the captured, and then went about casting the ship’s ropes aside, making sure to keep eyes averted from the holy warrior above.
They are leaving!?
The pull from inside the warlock led his darkened eyes to the berserker still standing upon the docks.
Bloodfist. Hannah Bloodfist. The voice within him growled. The fragment of her soul energy unraveling itself to Vegard.
Her face had been wrapped from the battle. Her armor glimmered like hot coals amongst the many lighted torches surrounding her.
Vegard could not make out the words. But the intent seemed obvious. Asmundr the Havan was taking Wera as prisoner. More than likely to the lord merchant to pay for her part in the crimes against him. Hanna Bloodfist, the psychotic berserker, was to be left behind to finish the job—find the other fugitive. Her honor more than likely compelled the woman towards revenge against the warlock that had crushed her face. Her fury was palpable even from Vegard’s vantage point.
There was no action he could take that wouldn’t be suicidal. Not at the moment, at least. There were too many around and Vegard had not a chance in all of the planes of hell to take on this pair by himself.
Vegard watched with a heavy heart as the ship cast off from the pier. A demeanor that turned to deathly resolve as he watched Bloodfist take her small contingent of guards to a caravan and ride off.
Vegard wanted answers from this woman. He wanted to peel the information from her burning insides. Where was the ship going? What will happen to his friend when it gets there? And lastly, where could he find this bastard merchant boss of theirs?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Stalking the Stalker
Vegard hunted the caravan as it clopped along Dawns Fero.
He stayed to the rooftops, jumping from ledge to ledge, staying perfectly within the shadows he had become so adept at living in.
The carriage wound its way through the meager and empty market place up to the second tier. It passed the banks, the loaners, the rich expanses of two story houses, and through the city center.
Eventually it came to a stop on the third and uppermost tier of the city. A grand embassy awaited them made of beautiful white stone. It stood several stories high surrounded by an outer wall of stone. This was Watercrest Embassy. The resting area for many of the city’s most prestigious guests. The high-merchants, lords, politicians, clergymen— all the aristocracy that came to visit the city of Dawns Fero.
Here the group disembarked outside the gates. Hanna barked orders at her followers before stretching her long limbs and heading inside through the courtyard and into the rich white stone building.
The men she left wore strips of red about their waists like the ones the paladin and berserker wore.
These were more of the Abaniel ilk, Vegard reasoned. The long hands of this merchant lord and his traitor god had descended upon the lands of Yessriel. They had brought force of arms to display their authority.
And, yet, the higher-ups of Dawns Fero bowed and ushered these bastards in open arms and rich manses. Their desperate want for civility outweighing the need for liberty.
A liberty that had been stripped from his companion for a second time in her unfortunate life. It was more than the warlock could bare.
Vegard placed his pack with Chenway down. He made sure the bag was secure and tight. This was not something the simple creature needed to see.
“Stay.” He whispered.
Vegard ripped from the shadows. His dark power surging leaving trails of devilish smoke trailing from his eyes and mouth. The men unloading the cart had hardly the time to understand their deathly predicament before the menace was within their ranks.
Blacktooth struck without mercy, sinking into the ribs of the first of the red kilts. He spun the walking corpse in a circle and kicked him loose towards his friends. Vegard weaved amongst the chaos, driving the tip of his sword up into the chest of another, siphoning his soul as it tried to escape to the gates of Storrhale.
“Not so fast.” He breathed the man’s energy in and then immediately torched the next two coming in. Their bodies came to a halt and began to convulse as Vegard burned their essence where they stood. Their limbs shook violently. Their bodies contorting as the fires of dark turned their insides to ash. They
collapsed to the ground together.
The last two staggered with uncertainty. This shadow demon had just appeared from the blackness of night, killing four of their comrades within seconds. Vegard whipped his blade of the excess gore, not wanting the taint of their irrelevance to stain his mighty sword. The two left looked like to piss themselves, yet they stood their ground despite the demon afoot.
“Your bravery shall be noted upon your graves.” Vegard taunted, his mouth brimming with the smoke of their dead friends.
Vegard dispatched the remaining men with ease. He looked to be alone amongst corpses outside the gates.
Either no other guards were on duty or the embassy thought an ambassador of the Church of Abaniel needed no other protection. It wasn’t impossible his presence was not yet known. His steel never rang with the sound of another. And the cries of the fallen had been paralyzed and silenced in their throats.
About time some luck flowed my way. He thought as he darted into the courtyard and ran up the wide steps of the embassy. He stopped at the large double doors, not wanting to push his luck further.
He skirted around the length of the building, peering through windows, ducking and moving further till he reached the back of the embassy. In the drizzling darkness of night he looked to be a savage animal set loose upon the city streets. His soggy cloak bounced on his shoulders and dripped with rain water. His knotted hair swayed behind like the tail of a wild predator.
Warning calls were heard out front where he had left the fallen contingent. His work finally noticed. The clatter of footsteps echoed through the courtyard.
A backdoor opened a few feet ahead of Vegard, an armored head popping out. Vegard charged the door and slammed his weight against it, pinning the man and slamming him against the building and door. He then pivoted around and pulled the man out, simultaneously punching the hilt of Blacktooth into the man’s face.
Vegard held his prey aloft as the man went limp in his black hands. He slipped through the door, dragging the guard with him, and closed the door quietly behind.
A Forgotten Soul: The Vegard Orlo Saga Page 15