by Jason Jones
The architecture was strange to her, square bases of broken gray stone, rising high, mingling with bridges and arches to even more heights, then topped with shattered domes of brass and bronze. It was not home, it was not beautiful and perfect, this place was more a tomb to the eyes of Shinayne than a lost city. The cobblestone bore more weeds and roots than level walkways. The drifts of snow failed to hide the ages of decay she passed through and by, street by ancient street. The city of Arouland arched and rose to the west, nearing the ocean, and hills were topped now with ramshackle cathedrals, feathered crosses broken or gone from centuries ago.
Shinayne kept her hands on her blade grips tightly, sneaking softly south around the corner of an old stone building. She could smell feces, fresh and strong. She heard the crunching of bone and meat, Something eating something else, Shinayne thought.
Peering round, she caught sight of an ogre not twenty feet away, yellowish skin dabbled in blood and crumbs of meat and squatting over a black horned deer, or what was left of it. Sensing the approach of her small horned friend from behind and feeling the presence of his shaking bow, she raised her leather gloved hand for him to stop. Reaching back without looking and touching one of the little white and furry horns on his head, she calmed him.
“Ssshhh.”
“Lady T’Sarrin, an ogre, oh, let me kill it where it sits,” whispered Bedesh, trembling with anger at the defilement of a beautiful male deer being so young and ravaged in such a manner.
“Not yet, there may be more to the ...”
Thewwwmmm
The arrow loosed from Nathaniel’s bow and a spark of green mist followed the enchanted bolt, reminding the two of them that the weapon had fey magic upon it. Through the neck, the tip bursting flesh on the other side, the ogre dropped his kill and tried to roar in rage. It reached to pull the bloody arrow with one hand and grabbed for a greataxe that was at least a foot taller than the elf woman, as chunks of fresh meat hung from its tusks, sinew swinging in the cold winds.
“Damn it Bedesh!” Shinayne cursed through her pursed lips, drawing her curved elven longblade in the right hand and matching shortblade with the left.
Moving quickly to the bleeding beast, she burst into action. With one fluid motion she slashed across the thick animal hides covering its chest, drawing yet more blood and knocking it back, cutting clean into flesh. Then, with the off hand, she plunged the blade deep above the ribs near the heart, perfect in form and stance. The eyes of the ogre rose barely to hers as it tried to stand, and then its eyes closed. The body followed into death, slumping to the ground over the deer.
Not a sound, the two stood perfectly still, listening, looking at each other. Unblinking, they waited for more ogre to come out of somewhere. The satyr readied a second arrow not paying mind to the fact that the beast was dead before he could think to reload, dead from the elven speed of his companion more than his arrow. Winter flakes from the sky made more noise at the moment.
“Next time, when I say hold, you hold.”
Shinayne turned to look at the beast, examining its size of nearly twice her own, and the smell. Using the pelts and hides, she cleaned her blades of the filthy blood. She wanted to lay the deer to rest, or cover it somehow, but the smell was too strong for her stomach. It was vicious and tart, a sour stench all around.
“Ogre shit where they eat, Bedesh, which must be the foulest thing I have seen yet in this journey. Let us move on, carefully this time, please.”
“Sometimes I pee when I run or get excited …sometimes,” shrugged the satyr, glancing down at his own small puddle below with rapidly blinking eyes. He was not overly disgusted with where one relieved themselves, ogre or otherwise, he had grown up in the forests, and was of the forest, after all.
Through what must have once been a main road into the center of this city, centuries in deprivation, the two walked along broken cobblestones and frosted brown weeds growing through the long lost streets. More silence, birds moving from window to broken ledges as they passed, yet a curious bird remained perfectly still atop an old flagpole from an unrecognizable ancient building. An owl, white with black spots and two long draped tails stared at them, following their every move from its rest some fifteen feet high. Its yellow eyes were blinking quickly in the cold breeze.
“Two-tailed watch owl. That would bring ten pounds of gold coin from any noble, even here in the south,” admired the woman, in awe at the calmness of the large bird in such a place as this.
“I would feel more comfortable if I had wings about now.” Bedesh kept just off the road, his hooves had clacked on the stone more than he liked.
“Just keep your eyes open behind us, and keep that bow ready.” Shinayne nodded to the owl as she passed underneath.
Feathers reminded her of Lavress. Shinayne concentrated on her lost lover, his features, her feelings, and kept close eye for any tracks that he might have been following. She was sure that she would see none of his, she never had. They had been only hours behind what Nathaniel was sure were the tracks of Eliah Shendrynn and had seen evidence of someone close behind the thief of a wizard and traitor to his own people. Shinayne was sure it was Lavress that followed, she could feel it.
Shinayne crouched down on a knee, slowly drawing her matching curved blades, keeping the longblade out further than the short one in guard form. She had heard something moving from behind and from the front, behind a set of disheveled stone monuments and above-ground tombs near what was left of an unknown temple. She also knew with her elven senses, that whatever came from behind was cautious, whatever was approaching from the old cemetery was not, and that there were even more behind that. She looked to the sky, silently, but consciously, asking for protection from Siril, son of Seirena, God of the elves.
There were four trolls now, hissing and squinting their black and red eyes in the overcast daylight. They were shivering a bit, emaciated and hungry, and moving to surround the two fey companions. Shinayne looked to her friend who was aiming the opposite way. Surrounded now, she looked for an escape route, not to flee, but to prevent them from being encircled by trolls and the horned beast that Bedesh was aiming at with the bow.
“Minotaur Shinayne, Shinayne there is---“
“Show no fear, Bedesh of Haven Glen. I have the trolls, if that minotaur steps any closer, fill it with flights.”
“If not?” Before he received an answer, his elven maiden stalked ahead toward the trolls.
The satyr held tight his grip, hearing orders from the elf and seeing trolls with his peripheral vision, yet he could not remove his stare from the massive gray minotaur that slowly walked toward him. Arms at his side, holding a great double bladed axe and a grappling hook and chain, quietly and carefully it walked, head and horns lowered. It was staring at him with those deep eyes with tattoos of horns under them. A murderous beast it was, with almost as little clothing as himself. It was coming straight for him and Bedesh froze in fear. Bedesh felt his mind racing. He had seen trolls and ogre, even a giant once, up in the Bori mountains, but never a minotaur. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Shinayne ready and poised to face the horrid green trolls, their ribs showing from lack of food. Heavy breath formed out of the nostrils of the gray beast as it huffed out a threatening grunt from its chest, snapping Bedesh’s attention back forward. Heavy footsteps and more snorting grunts from the minotaur as it began to move faster, lowering its shoulders and jogging toward the satyr’s readied bow. Bedesh felt the warm trickling down his leg, his hand quivered, and he closed his eyes.
“Stop! Stop right there, beast.” It came out as a whisper, despite his effort to yell.
Bedesh looked again at those eyes, not sure if they were directed at him or past him, so he moved his head to the side of his aim to see if the gaze followed. It did not. The horned killer was not even paying attention to the satyr as it gained more speed. Closing quickly, Bedesh whirled around seeing the trolls almost within arm’s reach of Shinayne, and let an arrow fly into the closest one
. Screeching sounded the same moment the arrow struck with a green flash and Bedesh quickly reached for another arrow. As the trolls lunged for the elf, he silently prayed that he did not turn his back to a minotaur that was about to kill him.
Shinayne's longblade swung high at the first troll's face, feigning to back up a step and miss, then she stepped forward twice under the beast's claws. Blade slashing high, the curved off hand sword sliced low across its abdomen, and suddenly insides were out. Shinayne tucked into a roll to the left, avoiding the other two, and stood up, cutting across the low spine with the longblade and twice with the shortblade, clean through on the third cut. Another arrow whistled through the cold above the elf's head, into the eye of her adversary. The troll fell, bellowing its screams at the sky, its top half collapsing onto its lower half. Squirming and reaching out at her, its death was slow and messy.
Two left, and then there was only one a blink later as some mass of gray muscle, horn, and steel hurled through the air and went rolling with its unsuspecting prey in a blur of roaring and screeching. Shinayne paid no mind to what beasts did to other beasts here, she focused on the wretched one closing in on her, swatting at foot long black claws as they ripped toward her face.
Sidestepping and deflecting as fast as the troll could come at her, she waited for the right moment. The two encircling each other, the elf on the defensive end of weaving claws and then it lunged to grab her. Yet another whisk of green mist as the arrow from Bedesh hit true in the troll's chest. The woman turned around on one foot to the right, blades out at shoulder height. The small curved blade stuck into the troll's arm on completion of the turn, the longblade severed the limb above the elbow in one fluid motion. She followed with inhuman speed and accuracy with an upward slash, reversing the grip and pointing the tip through the throat of the fanged beast and continued the stroke through the jaw and into the skull. The troll spun around, despite the pain it inflicted to itself as it was impaled, and tried to reach her with its remaining arm. She easily ducked and riposted with the shortblade, cutting across the throat, nicking her other sword, then finished the cut with a backhand slash through the neck. The green blood covering the inscriptions on her swords, then splashing onto her leather boots, she mercifully and with disgust cleaved what strand still held the fiend's head on. As it fell Shinayne turned toward the south, ready to face whoever stood up first.
“I think, my lady, that the minotaur hates trolls as well. Might want to let him finish that one,” said the satyr, still pointing his arrow at the two combatants.
The two watched for a few seconds, and then the screeching and snarling stopped; the snapping of the backbone from an axe ensured that. The minotaur stood, turning and walking confidently toward them.
“The fourth ran off with your arrow in it, little horned one. There will be more very soon.” The minotaur spoke in Agarian.
Stares. The two looked at each other, then back at the hulk of horned danger before them, both surprised that yet another fight for their lives was not about to begin. Neither companion had thought this beast would speak Agarian, let alone fluently. Only the satyr showed his relief.
“Bedesh of Haven Glen, big horned one, and this is Lady Shinayne T’Sa...”
“It can wait,” snorted Saberrak, walking past them and peering over some old stone wall, smelling the air. “Ogre, many, I can smell them. Which way out of this place?”
“We are traveling south, minotaur, and until I have your name, there will be only two of us heading that way,” retorted Shinayne arrogantly. Despite her noble demeanor, she too, was sensing the pursuit of many creatures from the north and west, from the inner city. They were now being hunted and had attracted attention. Her stubbornness would not sway and she stood her ground, cleaning her blades on her cloak, nose raised and waiting for an answer from this gray bull-man.
“Saberrak the gray, of Zeress, gladiator of Unlinn. Now let’s move,” huffed the minotaur, not in the mood for these games or for giving their enemies any more time to close. He knew Chalas could be around any corner, any moment.
“I think we shall let you go on your way.”
“Stay close, safety in numbers.”
“I think not.”
“They know you are here, likely me too. So you cannot hide, elf. It makes no sense to separate.” Saberrak huffed again and squinted toward the woman. Never had he seen skin or eyes or hair like hers, so golden and perfect. He did not let this show.
“We can hide and are hard to track, beast. You, finding you anywhere would be easy.” Shinayne nodded for the minotaur to leave. She noticed his tattoos, his scars, and thought of Lavress.
“You asked my name, woman, and I gave it. It is not beast.” Saberrak stalked up to the elven woman, and to his inner surprise, she did not move one muscle.
Bedesh stepped up with a nervous smile, looking up to the gray minotaur that towered over two feet above. His horns were nearly as long as his own arms, with a chest thrice as wide as his own, and scars and tattoos decorated it all.
“Saberrak, eh? And where is Zeress? I have never heard of it. Is it near here?” the satyr spoke too fast, too curious for Saberrak’s taste, and he received the same stare as the trolls had in return. A stare Bedesh could not hold, as he was nervous and blinked too much when he felt pressured.
“Just Saberrak. Zeress is the slavemaster that owned me, not a place. Unlinn is the city below these ruins, and I will not be returning to where I came from. Just Saberrak. Enough questions,” Saberrak stated as he wiped green blood from his hands into the snow. “We need to leave.”
The elf moved forward, shaking her head in noble superiority and disagreement with this beast, at least on the outside. Inside she knew there was not enough elven coin on her to buy help like this, not help that could rend a troll in two like this minotaur. Being noble and wise, she knew she should show quite the opposite of what she thought, keeping her one step ahead of everyone.
“I have heard of Linn, the ruins thereof are north of here. Never heard of Unlinn.” Shinayne stepped cautiously, circling this minotaur and eyeing his every motion.
“I have never heard of elf women killing trolls, goat men with bows, or anything beyond the confines of my slavery. What of it?” Saberrak retorted with a scowl.
“Very well, Saberrak of Unlinn. Since we cannot leave you here to your fate, you may accompany us.”
“Is that so?” his nostrils flared as he stared down.
“It is.” Shinayne grinned.
“Fair enough, fair enough.” Bedesh smiled and lowered his bow. “My lady is searching for a great hunter named Lavress Tilaniun. Surely he can lead us to civilization and safety. Would you help us track him?”
“Show me.”
“This is the trail we were following when our scout was killed last night,” Shinayne stated, pointing the tip of her blade at a faint line of dirt on a piece of cobblestone. “Can you follow that, Saberrak the gray, no longer of Zeress or Unlinn?”
Saberrak snorted at the sarcasm of this elf, thinking she must be royalty, or thinks herself as such anyway. She was not like the elves he saw in Unlinn. They were pale skinned, dark haired and had dark eyes, more like men with tight features and pointed ears. Some he had seen even had strange black markings on their face, not like his tattoos, more akin to birthmarks or a disease, he recalled. Even the ogre gave wide berth to those elves when they came to trade underground. No, he thought, this one was elegant, bronze and tan, with otherworldly and enchanting features unlike any he had ever seen. Most likely it was her melodic voice he had heard, and most likely others had heard it as well. And traveling with a furry little horned goat man with a bow, out here in this dangerous ruined place, such arrogance thought the minotaur.
“Well?”
“I can follow your little elf tracks easily, perhaps in the dark,” he replied snidely. The minotaur appreciated confidence, but would not think to mention that to the elf. She had enough of an ego already, he assured himself.
“Prove it,” Shinayne replied.
Huffing out his chest and smelling the air, Saberrak followed what little he could of the trail, Bedesh and the elf close behind him. He knew not where he was, or where he was heading, but strength in numbers was better than dying alone and lost in the middle of nowhere.
“I don’t know if we can trust him Bedesh, keep a close eye on his movements and see if he is really on the trail or no,” said Shinayne in high elven, sure that the gray warrior could not speak her native tongue.
“Yes, my lady,” was about all Bedesh knew in high elven, but he understood much of what he heard, growing up with wood elves to the north. The dialects were similar. The satyr felt safer with the big horned brute in the lead than without him, and that was all that he needed, a little bit more security in this dreadful cold place.
“How long have you resided here, in these ruins, Saberrak the gray?”
“I do not live here, been here maybe a few hours. I told you, I just escaped. We need to remain silent, hunted now.”
Light snow flurried through the air, and Shinayne watched as the minotaur saw what must be his first snowfall, probably the onset of his first winter. She followed his movements, realizing that Bedesh was not, and the path through the city he took. His scars she noticed as well, dozens across his back split with a mane of black hair starting from between his huge curved horns. Though he tried to hide it from them, Shinayne saw the fascination in his eyes with every step they took.
How strange this must be to him, she thought. He is not lying, he has not seen this before, none of it.
For a moment Shinayne had forgotten to concentrate on Lavress Tilaniun, and for a moment the elf also forgot her parents in exile. She did not feel, momentarily, the resentment of assassination attempts on her father by the failing elf kingdom of Shalokahn. Shinayne had not felt in hours the pain of loss when she and her younger sisters were left to live with her aunt and uncle, relatives assigned to the throne of Kilikala for the safety of her family, crushing the dreams and prides of a young princess. No longer an heir, no longer the daughter of the king of the most powerful and beautiful of elven nations, that pain had only left when in the company of Lavress of Gualidura. Now Shinayne realized that he must have moved further ahead, for she was not reminded of why she needed him so, the hurt that he removed. She quickened her pace, hoping to feel closer to the elf her heart yearned for.