“Yer gawn bee fine boy,” an unfamiliar voice said.
Venir shivered.
DS CHAPTER 2
Over ten seasons passed in Venir’s life and despite the tragedy during his boyhood, his spirit was never broken. His freedom among the cities, forests and dry lands kept a grim smile on his face most of the time. A good meal and a comfortable place to sleep was more than enough to satisfy him. And so, with trial, he lived on.
Where the thick forests ended and the harsh grit of the Outlands met, the young outlander had settled in at Two-Ten City. Inside the falling city—an unimpressive tavern called the Orc’s Elbow—he was carrying on with his colleagues. It was an unusual oaken tavern with a grimy gray-brown exterior, in a two-story building with few support walls. It had the appearance that the second story would tumble down at any moment.
Despite its name, no orcs were to be found inside. The tavern’s previous owner, a full orc, had wagered the Orcs Elbow on the fight between Venir and another. The orcen man lost. Since then, not a single orc had re-entered it. Venir had been comrades with the new owner, Billip, ever since.
“So Billip, what’s the wager tonight?” he said as he sat his big body on a groaning stool. The man behind the bar sent a fresh mug of mead sliding his way.
“Ah, wouldn’t you like in on the action! Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve got ten good gold against Melegal. The dirty donkey of his will be mine if he can’t throw a bulls-eye, blindfolded, from ten paces.”
Billip cracked his knuckles, grinning with greed. Also sitting at the bar, a lean figure in loose fitting clothes looked up and rolled his eyes. Billip glared at the skinny man. Billip fidgeted and his dark eyes always seemed to be calculating odds under his mop of short black hair. Nothing appeared extraordinary about his stout, wiry frame or his weathered skin as he moved with fluid purpose about the bar. The tavern owner was a tireless tracker and an unrivaled archer, and as loyal a man as could be found on Bish. Older than Venir, Billip had much more experience as a soldier, a trader, and a gambler, which was what might have led to him to living in Two-Ten City in the first place.
The scout kept his private thoughts to himself and never confirmed it, but Venir suspected that Billip had got in over his head somewhere along the line. The security of this undesirable multi-humanoid city was as good a place to hide as any.
The other man at the bar pulled his sleeves up along his bony wrists, adjusted his floppy hat, and savored his purple wine. Billip dug around under the bar and produced a black cloth. Venir, comfortable in his spot, slurped his mead and watched.
Melegal pushed himself away from the bar, walked over to Billip and stood as still as a crane. Billip strapped the thick black cloth around the man’s narrow head and stepped back.
Melegal now stood blindfolded as the barkeeper walked over to the adjacent wall. Billip outlined a large gold talent with a white piece of chalk. Venir could see the blinded man’s ear bend as the raunchy tavern dwellers were aroused and closing in. Melegal stiffened, but Venir cleared his throat a few times and the thief’s body turned slack. Being blindfolded wasn’t something one normally did in treacherous taverns, but the gold made it worth the risk. Venir bristled in his chair and the audience regressed their crowding. They all had enemies, and no one was ever safe, especially in Two-Ten City.
“Okay Melegal, let me remind you of the rules. Your hit has to be inside the mark,” he rapped his knuckle on the spot, “… not touching it. Not even close to touching it!”
Melegal smirked and drew a short flat throwing dagger from the inside of his shirt. The betting crowd quieted to a hush. With a flick of his wrist, Melegal’s dagger sliced the air and landed with a loud thunk, dead center as Billip jerked away his calloused fingers.
“I didn’t say go yet!”
Venir was laughing out loud. He couldn’t remember the last time he did so. When the others got over their amazement they began laughing too. Billip snatched the dagger out of the wall and threw it into the floor.
“You wait until I say go—and you don’t get to use your own dagger! That’s cheating and you didn’t let me finish the rules. Don’t move!” Billip said as he scurried away with a furrowed brow.
Melegal waited, hands on hips, sighing while his challenger hunted, crashed and cursed from back inside the kitchen. The barkeeper returned with a thin row of white teeth and placed an object in the Melegal’s waiting hand.
This should be good, Venir thought, leaning back on the bar.
The blindfolded man ran his delicate fingers over the object and twirled it around with a scowl. Melegal said, “Are you expecting me to throw a wood-handled steak knife into that wall?”
“Yep,” Billip answered with cheer.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. House rules. My house. My rules.”
“It doesn’t even have a point. Its round on the end,” Melegal said, fingering the edge. “I’m surprised you didn’t give me a spoon. This is ridiculous.”
“Too bad. Double or nothing. No—triple! Make your throw or give me your mule—plus ten gold!”
Venir covered his mouth as he saw Melegal stiffen at the remark. The two challengers burst into a flurry of unpleasant words. Venir knew Billip was trying to get inside his head. There had been a hot issue between the two for sometime over the pack animal called Quickster. The two argued another five minutes over the issue of true ownership. He watched the agitated men, wondering who would swing first. Someone else from the crowd told them to shut up and get it over with or they would all leave. As quick as it started it was over. The two men then got back to business but both men’s lips were turned tight. Billip looked over at him and shrugged. Nice try, Venir thought
“Wait until I say go,” Billip said.
“I’m waiting,” the thief replied.
Billip paced about, checking the blindfold until he was satisfied. The room was tingling with anticipation. The crowd was shuffling coins between their eager hands. Billip the barkeeper raised his arms and voice.
“Okay—Go!”
The knife flicked out of the man’s hand like a snake’s tongue and lodged itself inside of the circle. The knife handle hung down at an angle, but held firm in the wall. The crowd cheered.
“Nooo!” Billip fell to his knees, holding his head, teeth clenched. “How did he do that? He does it every time. He’s gotta miss one of these days!”
Billip tugged at his black hair, storming and screaming into the kitchen, sending his staff out with ashen faces.
The tavern erupted with praise and laughter as Melegal joined Venir alongside the bar.
“Good show Melegal,” he said, refilling the rogues wine glass.
“Indeed,” the man said, saluting back before slinging the blindfold away.
Billip resurfaced and dropped his coins on the bar. The man’s cheeks had cooled and he didn’t look as the coins disappeared faster than they appeared. The two men gave a quick nod to one another
“Come on,” Billip said, motioning with his head. Venir and Melegal followed him to a more discrete booth near the back end of the bar.
“All right, so what’s the big news?” Venir asked in an eager voice, while Melegal fingered a piece of his winnings, drawing a hard look from the barkeeper.
Billip turned to Venir, scratching his head.
“You know, I love the Outlands and the forests and all, but I don’t see how you live out there as long as you do and survive. Don’t you miss the comforts of the city? The food and companionship? The girls keep asking me where my blonde friend is. I ain’t got time to answer to your whereabouts all the time. I’m not your keeper you know.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Melegal added.
Venir shrugged. They never understood before, so why bring it up now.
“Someone’s got to keep tabs on the underlings.”
Billip just shook his head and said, “I don’t understand you.”
Venir beckoned for the man to continue.
; Billip started popping his knuckles.
“Anyway, things are stirring up around here. I’m not used to it. A detestable bunch of mercenaries, not at all like us, are doing a lot of recruiting here in Two-Ten. Some of our fellows say they’re paying well—extremely well—and some have even joined up.”
A warm meal of steak, potatoes, and a strong smelling pot of coffee arrived. The powerful aroma roused his senses; Venir hadn’t had any in weeks. He took a few welcome gulps of his fresh brew. “Ah” he moaned. Too long.
Venir filled his cup.
“That’s it? More mercenaries for hire? Just Royals up to their dirty tricks, somewhere. I don’t see the big deal—”
“I’m not finished,” Billip stammered, almost spilling his glass, “… mind your elder Venir. I’ve been chatting them up as they ask for people and Melegal has been listening in too. They keep pretty hush-hush about their purposes, but we’re pretty sure we’ve figured it out.”
Venir leaned back in his chair and took a long hot sip.
“Well, what?” he asked.
“You sure you wanna know?’
“Yes, big brother. What is it?”
Billip’s voice was excited as he continued.
“They’re raising a brigand army of the likes never before seen on Bish. I’m talking at least three hundred brigands. And they ain’t all human either. They send humans to recruit, but it’s the orcs that are leaving in masses, more so than men.
“Great! The fewer orcs in Two-Ten the better. What’s the problem?”
“They’re being led by a woman—a human woman.”
There was a moment of pause.
Venir tugged on the locks of his braided hair that hung over his shoulder. “A woman? That can’t be. And it’s hardly an army. Maybe a small one. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Melegal interjected.
“It’s true, Vee. They call her Jarla, the Brigand Queen. They revere her. They say she started with a small band near the White Blaze Pass beyond the Underland, and she’s been slowly carving her way through Bish for years. According to her men, they’ve been devastating merchant trains, human settlements, and even Royal outposts.”
Melegal kept his voice at a harsh whisper as a group of merchant’s glanced their way.
“Now, that’s not normal protocol for brigands. They might rob men, but now they’ve been slaughtering them too … and their families as well.”
Venir’s flaxen brows creased over his blue eyes as his fingers rubbed his square cut chin. He and his own mercenary troupe had seen and done much that very few would understand. They always drew the line at what had to be done. As for common brigands, they tended to scare rather than harm their own kind, and there were usually no more than a dozen or so to the gang. The thought of a brigand army that plundered, killed, and battled organized soldiers didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been far south lately, but maybe it was time he went and checked on some old friends.
“What are you thinking, Vee? You wanna go check if the rumors are true? I’m ready when you are,” Billip offered. “And Mikkel’s keen, too.”
“Count me in,” said Melegal. “I need to get out of this stinking hole as well.”
“All right, but let’s have some fun first,” he said. “We’ll figure something out tomorrow. I need to unwind. Say, where are they keeping the pretty women these days? Clearly they still aren’t coming in here.”
“Melegal runs them off every time he offers them a ride on his donkey.”
Venir laughed, it was time to revel into the hot night. As he got up he felt an uncomfortable presence looming nearby. Scanning the room he noticed nothing odd. He gulped down the remaining pot of coffee and tried to let the feeling go, but it hung in the air. Hopefully, a few stiff drinks and wayward songs would wash the feeling away.
DS CHAPTER 3
Two days later, a small band of men began the journey south towards the camp of Jarla, the Brigand Queen. The terrain they traveled was far more hospitable than the barren north as the thick forests offered refuge from the two blazing suns. The southern lands of Bish contained less marsh, dust and much blue-green foliage. Cooling oases with large streams cropped up in their midst. But the terrain was anything but flat like the north. Unforgiving hills and valleys slowed travel, forcing them to traverse winding narrow passes, rather than straight over the hilltops. It kept the small party’s nerves on edge, as it was a perfect place for an ambush.
The high ground was good ground, as small royal outposts could be seen in the distance with the flags of their people. The royal soldiers kept watch over this lush land. Farms and villages thrived in the rich soil, where food, water and timber were valuable commodities among the world rulers. The Royals protected their investments well, yet the southlands of Bish were just as treacherous as those of the north.
Brigands, orcs, dog-faced gnolls, and kobolds thrived and raised their kind in this land as well. Most of the time they fought one another, but they also raided and pillaged the more peaceful inhabitants. It was the natural order of things for as long as anyone remembered. Not a day passed in the world without violence of the most treacherous nature. It made for hardened people everywhere.
As the men passed through the villages they happened upon, the tales of Jarla’s brigand army became more intriguing. Venir could not tell if what they heard was truth or rumor, but the people seemed convincing enough. The repeated claims of a large army of orcs, kobolds, humans and gnolls, all functioning as a single unit under a woman’s command, toyed with his imagination.
Still, it was a hard story for Venir to swallow. In his experience, two races almost never fought in a cohesive unit, let alone four of a kind. It must be the biggest, ugliest woman a woman could be, he thought. He was compelled to see for himself and the thoughts of hunting underlings seemed to drift away.
Female leaders were uncommon in the world of Bish. Most races were not led by fighting women. Venir was astonished that the rough races were following a female leader, let alone one of another race. As for female soldiers, he had known plenty among the human ranks, but they never ventured together too long. The men tended to want the women as more than just fellow soldiers, and those men often suffered dire injuries as a result. So how had this one woman created an army that threatened the southern lands of Bish? He had to find out.
The long hours of silence was broken when a powerful black man spoke with the voice of a rushing river.
“Man, I can’t believe there are kobolds in that army. That’s stupid!” Mikkel said, spitting.
“Yeah, I’m not so sure we need to get too curious about all this,” Billip added, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
“We’ve come this far. Let’s just get a quick look. It’s hard to imagine the stories are true, but who knows,” Venir answered, sipping from his canteen.
The small band pushed through the slippery terrain, on foot, pressing deeper into the forests. He and the company had traveled like this dozens of times over the years, and they all knew how to handle things if they ever got into a pinch. They were all dressed in tunics of leather or woodsman garb, except for Melegal, who wore drab clothes of his own design. Backpacks, canteens, belt pouches, and weapons of choice made up the rest of their personal gear.
The humidity in the south was as thick as water. Sweat rolled off the men’s heads and soaked their attire. Venir and Mikkel’s bare biceps were thick with oily sweat. Billip’s cloth covered arms were soaked, while Melegal appeared as dry as a bone, drawing a frustrated grunt from Billip.
The men did not brandish arms as they navigated the difficult territory with grubby fingers fighting for miniscule grips. They crossed over jutting hillsides and down into plunging gorges. Billip led the way with a short composite bow across his back, and Mikkel had a heavy crossbow strapped across his. Venir carried a short bow and each had a quiver, while the wiry scout ahead carried a spare. Swords, daggers and knives could be seen at their hips. Whatever the thief carri
ed was not apparent.
“So what’s the plan, Vee?” Mikkel asked from behind. “I know you have one. Do we take a look? Spy—Attack—Join?”
“I thought we’d just rob them. I’m sure we can take them all on since you’re with us Mikkel.”
“Well, I’m the only true fighter in this gang, besides you. I’ve no idea why you brought these other two sandbags along. They never fight closer than thirty feet.”
“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Billip said, glaring back. “I do my fair share, unlike Melegal. Just look at him, he even avoids his own sweat.”
“Hah, you can say all you like, but someone’s gonna have to dig your graves one of these days,” Melegal chimed in from the rear, “… so be grateful. And just to be clear, I won’t do the digging, I’ll use Billip’s money to pay his urchins to dig.”
“Man Melegal, you are cold. But I like it! You’re my man!” Mikkel shot him a grin full of big white teeth that gleamed in the sun. Billip scowled and huffed forward over a mossy ledge.
Chongo appeared at Venir’s side after he stood atop the ledge. The shaggy brown mastiff licked his face as he poured water into his meaty palm. Chongo lapped it up. The dog stopped, ears perking up. The big dog began scurrying back and forth, and barking in low puffs.
“All right … Chongo’s found something. Let’s step it up. I got a feeling we’re about to happen upon the brigand army.”
“Great, so when you gonna share your plan, Vee?” said Mikkel. “Or do I have to come up with one myself?”
“Bad idea, we know how your plans turn out,” the scout said.
Mikkel folded his arms over his powerful chest.
“What you talking about, Billip?”
Zombie Day Care Page 13