Within

by Aaron Bunce

  Noble stammered, “Y…yes, I guess we’ll take the whole lot of em. Let me just run these to the back.”

  After Noble had left, Lucilla pulled out a bag from under the counter. She poured some coins into her hand, counting quietly to herself.

  “Fair,” she said and grabbed Roman’s hand. She dumped the coins into his palm with a flourish and closed his fingers around them. From the weight, Roman could instantly tell that it was well more than she needed to pay him.

  “I can’t ta…” he started to protest, but Lucilla quieted him with a look. “Fair,” she said firmly. Humbled, Roman deposited the copper and silver into his coin bag and tied it to his belt.

  Noble returned, and they chatted for a short while about the news around town. Lucilla’s cheeks flushed red as she rocked side to side on her wooden stool. She did love to gossip.

  “I will stop by later for that meat, after my errands,” Roman said as he made to leave. He almost slipped up and said where he was going. He hadn’t the heart to tell Lucilla where he was headed. He couldn’t bear the look of disappointment, or the tongue lashing Frenin would receive.

  “Be sure you do,” Noble shouted back at him. “I will run that meat over to Marna’s. She is good about paying upfront. I’ll have the coin waiting for you.”

  Roman thanked the pair and stepped out of the door and onto the street. He turned, basking in the warm sun on his face. With Tusk in tow, he took his first steps towards Garon’s farm, and what he could hardly consider a chance meeting.

  It wasn’t just anxiousness, he realized, but fear. It eclipsed his dread of the tax collector, which felt like a distant thing, especially with the heavier coin purse.

  How would Garon react when he saw him again? Would he be thrown into one of his characteristic fits of rage? Would he lash out at anything, and everything around him? Or would he slink away to smolder and fester internally, only to take it out on Greta and Alina after Roman had gone?

  A lose-lose situation, no matter how he figured it. Would he risk a confrontation with Garon and the twins, or put Greta in danger of one herself? Either way, Roman didn’t like the chances.

  I did promise Frenin, Roman reminded himself, and he looked down to Tusk. The dog leaned against his leg and looked up at him. Roman reached down and scratched him behind his ears, and in response he grunted loudly.

  “You got my back, boy?” Tusk turned his head in response.

  “Yeah, I know you do,” he mumbled as they set off together.

  Chapter 6

  Craymore

  Northern Barden’s Reach…

  Julian itched under his heavy arming jacket. He couldn’t imagine not wearing it, though, not with the brisk mountain winds. He shifted against the wall to get comfortable and watched the endless stream of people funneling through the gate. He cast his thoughts elsewhere, trying to fight the boredom.

  Behind him, the cobblestone road led up into Old Craymore, or the upper city as some called it. Below him sprawled the lower city. It was a mismatch of storefronts, markets, and simple, stone homes. It all spilled forth into the countryside, breaking loose of the city’s protective walls like an overturned rubbish basket.

  Perched on the slopes of Bahlman’s Peak, the sheer rock face of the mountain protected Craymore to the north, and the rocky valley made it unapproachable from the south. Giant walls enclosed the city’s eastern and western approaches, but they only enclosed half the city, a fact that made keeping it safe a logistical nightmare.

  In the time since his arrival, Julian had yet to learn all of the twists and turns of the city’s winding streets. It wasn’t ordered or well laid out. It was nothing like home. He also didn’t know anyone in town, save for the few friends that had transferred with him. Most he had met while training in Karnell, and of course, his best friend, Sky.

  They had been the closest of friends since childhood. They enlisted together, motivated by a tedious life of finance ledgers staring them in the face. With some help behind the scenes, meaning a bag or two of gold, his well-connected father had managed to keep them together throughout their training. Once they graduated they were afforded the right of choice for their first post assignment.

  Julian watched more people stroll up and down the road, his thoughts flitting between his irritable itch and home. Most people appeared to be wrapped up in their errands or conversations. They were too engrossed to pay him any mind. He enjoyed watching them nonetheless.

  They were a different breed from what he knew in Ban Turin. They weren’t wrapped up with status, money, or gossip. No, they focused primarily on the day to day tasks of survival. He found that he liked that.

  Julian heard someone scream. A moment later people came rushing frantically up the lane. He stepped forward and craned his neck for a better look, but a throng of people blocked his view.

  People shoved others out of their way, moving in a sudden panic. More were screaming. Julian hastily looked left. The other guard posted with him at the gate disappeared. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he saw him.

  What in the hell am I supposed to do? he thought.

  The chaos flooded over him. Those that fell were trampled as the mad crowd stampeded towards the safety of the old city’s walls. Women carrying baskets ran into him as they fled blindly up the lane. They pushed and shoved him, knocking him back into the wall.

  A man shoved through the women and became tangled on Julian’s shield. Panic contorted his face as he clawed, fighting like a frantic animal to escape. Julian pulled hard on his shield, and the fabric of the man’s shirt ripped. With a quick push, the man disappeared back into the throng.

  Julian tried to rely on his instincts. He set his shield and pushed through the frantic people like a swimmer fighting a river’s current, but there were so many of them. It was rough going.

  Once free, he ran down the cobblestone way, his armor rattling noisily with every stride. He jogged until his sides ached, and even then he didn’t stop. He pushed through the discomfort.

  A wall of stalls appeared, jutting out in the lane. Beyond them lay the market, and the source of the commotion. He ducked past baskets loaded with fresh produce and wild game. He could hear noises ahead, cries of pain and what sounded like animals fighting.

  His mind swirled as he rounded the last row of loaded stalls. Bodies lay all about. Some moved and writhed about, bloodied and mangled. Others lay motionless in dark pools. It was a horrible, chaotic scene.

  A ragtag group of soldiers clustered together, fighting against an enemy that outnumbered and overpowered them. Their adversaries flashed with lightning in their movements, power and ferocity the men couldn’t seem to match. They were gnarls, monsters Julian had only heard of in stories. They didn’t look overly large, but when walking upright they appeared to be almost the height of a man.

  Julian saw splotchy coats of mottled fur and yellowed teeth. Their musk was heavy on the air. The gnarls were far more grotesque than he had ever imagined. Their faces were squat and piggish, with beady, close-set eyes and overly large ears. Their teeth were long and jagged and curled haphazardly over their lips.

  A young soldier with a scruffy beard staggered and fell, blood pumping from a ragged tear in his neck. Once he fell, the ramshackle formation broke apart. Several men turned and ran while those that held their ground took the full brunt of the savage gnarls.

  One of the creatures descended on the fallen soldier. It ripped, bit, and pounded on him even as he bled out on the ground. Julian broke from his trance as the terrified men nearly bowled him over.

  Julian jumped out of their way just as a pair of keening gnarls charged forward, howling for blood. Julian’s hand, clumsy in the bulky gloves, fumbled for a heartbeat before wrapping around his sword, but he froze. Panic shot through him as the gnarls descended, a late pull broke his sword free just in time.

  He swiped the blade out in front of him but had no time to set his feet. He kept the sword angled towards the ground and knocke
d a savage looking cudgel aside. The second beast lunged in, its sharpened pickaxe bouncing with a dull thud off Julian’s shield.

  His armor and bulky shield felt impossibly heavy. They prevented him from moving quickly, from gaining an angle or advantage. It took all of his energy and focus warding off the constant barrage from the aggressive creatures.

  Julian tried to fall back on his training, but the scenarios and tactics bored relentlessly into his head felt jumbled and useless. Everything happened too fast, he couldn’t think quickly enough, he simply had to react.

  Secretly he had yearned for combat, to test his mettle. But this wasn’t what he expected. He felt like he was on the verge of death, that each cut of his sword or parry of his shield would be the last.

  He ducked and spun from a savage blow, which was followed by a low swipe by its fellow. The gnarls kept him off balance. He was dancing, not fighting.

  A dull pain throbbed deep within Julian’s sword arm and shoulder. He had yet to strike at either of his attackers. Julian knocked the cudgel out wide again, the stone face of the club reverberating painfully through his arm and into his shoulder.

  Julian knew he was in trouble. He had to focus and bring the fight under control, or he wouldn’t last long. He tried to clear his mind and sweep away his frantic attempts at strategy and trust in his training.

  There was a moment, a pause, it lasted only the bat of an eyelid, but Julian acted. He slashed hard across with his sword. The blade sang through the air and forced the two gnarls back defensively. Then Julian spun. So quick was the movement that one of the gnarls swung at only air, leaving the creature staggering and off balance.

  Julian thrust hard, driving the point of his sword into the gnarl’s back. The beast howled and turned, nearly yanking his sword from his hand. It was clearly wounded. Its attacks came with nowhere near the same ferocity.

  Julian battered the other gnarl back with a strike from his shield and came at the injured creature in a flurry. One, two, and then a third cut of his sword and the beast fell.

  He managed a quick glance back towards the few soldiers that hadn’t run. They weren’t faring well. Half their numbers had fallen, and without help the rest were soon to follow.

  Where are our reinforcements? He dodged another attack. Another pair of the slathering creatures, having torn apart one of the guards tried to circle around and surround him.

  Julian tried to keep the creatures in front of him, but there were simply too many, and as he ducked behind his shield he was jarred by a heavy blow to his back. He tumbled forward onto the ground, and as he rolled over, his heavy shield was torqued from his hand. He rolled as a gnarl leapt at him, bringing his foot up just in time to catch the creature before it fell on him.

  The gnarl’s pickaxe swung down. The weapon hit the plate cuisse covering Julian’s thigh. The plate creased under the blow. Pain flared in his leg as the cutting tip sank hungrily into the meat of his thigh.

  Julian reared up and kicked the gnarl away with his good leg. The creature fell away, but its weapon remained stuck in place. Julian rolled over painfully and failed to get back to his feet. The gnarl regained its balance first.

  The creature dug its claws into the ground and sprang at him, its teeth gnashing. Julian tried to kick back, but he flopped helplessly in place.

  He held his arms up protectively as the creature loomed, but before its claws could fall, it jerked suddenly, screeching in a horrific cry of pain and anger. It toppled face first onto Julian’s legs and started to spasm. It flopped and convulsed violently, a white fletched arrow sticking out of its back.

  A pair of archers perched on a nearby rooftop let another arrow fly. Julian gritted his teeth, pulling on the pickaxe. He felt the dirty blade wiggle painfully before finally coming free. Blood ran down his leg, seeping into his pants and bubbling out around the weapon. He clambered to his feet.

  Julian took a hobbled, weak-legged step towards the archers, but he wasn’t the only one that had noticed the two men. Julian tried to scream out and warn them. He waved his arms and fell to his hands and knees as he tried to run, but it was no use.

  The gnarls were too agile. They moved through the merchant stalls like snakes through the grass, and when the two men did loose, their shots flew wide of the mark.

  The savages crawled up the stone face of the building. An arrow parted the face of the first creature to reach the rooftop. Its body fell limp to the ground below. There were more, however, and the men couldn’t nock their arrows fast enough.

  The archer’s light brigandine armor was no match for the gnarl’s claws and teeth as they tore into them. They piled on top of the two men like wolves to bleeding prey. Julian cursed and spat in anger as their screams filled the air.

  Before Julian could get near the building, the archers were dead, and the gnarls scattered. Julian hobbled after them, but there was no way he could match their speed in his condition.

  A profound anger swept through Julian, and he started to curse the creatures. His chest heaved, and a red fog covered his vision. He became so fixated on the two gnarls that he almost stumbled over another of the beasts as he rounded a market stall.

  The creature turned its back as it ducked over the bloodied body of an unfortunate merchant. It gave a startled squelch and hopped to its feet as Julian limped to a halt. His anger helped him to strike first.

  The gnarl hissed and turned to run, but Julian grabbed the merchant’s stall and pulled. With a snap, the heavy wooden rack crashed down upon the creature’s back. Fruit and vegetables from the various crates tumbled out in every direction.

  The gnarl squealed and thrashed. As Julian pushed his way through the clutter, the blood caked creature erupted towards him from beneath the stall. Black claws raked the air, and he barely had time to duck away. The gnarl came on in a savaged fury, but the weight from the merchant stall pinned its legs.

  Julian drove his sword straight in at the creature, and when it fell away from him, grievously wounded, he didn’t back down. His sword cut down over and over again. He hacked at it like a lumberjack splitting wood. The dying screams of the two archers bounced around in his head, driving him on.

  He stopped when his arms gave out, his sword now too heavy to lift. Julian stumbled back around the merchant stall. He was spattered with bits of blood and gore, whether it his own or the gnarls didn’t matter.

  “This is madness,” Julian gasped as he tried to catch his breath. He had never heard of gnarls this brazen before. An attack on a city Craymore’s size was unheard of and for good reason.

  What could possibly drive them to attack the city so boldly, and during the day? His mind spun as he worked over the beast’s motivations, but those fears washed away as the air filled with a horrible sound. A bizarre note, twisted and dark, echoed from the misty recesses of the swampy Black Moors. It was the haunting tone of a blaring horn.

  Several guards walked up next to Julian, their heads turned, searching for the unseen source of the wicked tone. Gnarls appeared from the wreckage of the market, drawn into the open by the unusual sound. They stood frozen and sniffed at the air, completely transfixed by the sound. They no longer noticed Julian and the other men.

  As he listened to the strange noise, he felt his muscles tighten and knot up. His knuckles ached as he squeezed uncontrollably to the grip of his sword. He was vaguely aware of the heavy footfalls that echoed on the cobblestone behind him, but he couldn’t turn away from the noise. He heard the other men, the rattle of their armor and the echo of their voices.

  Then, from the edge of town came a wave of murder, hunched over and running on all fours, like a pack of lithe hunters. They moved so fast and low to the ground that Julian couldn’t fathom their numbers. They covered the empty ground in a heartbeat, leaping over wagons and merchant stalls, murderous tooth and nail flashing as they ran.

  Julian’s mind went foggy and his arms slack. Some part of him believed he should stop fighting. With great effort, he tore his
gaze from the approaching beasts.

  The gnarls pressed in, swinging their heavy weapons and felling man or timber with equal disregard. Julian staggered back, desperately trying to find his place in the struggle.

  Archers lined the ramparts overlooking the merchant quarter. Arrows were nocked and ready to loose, but they did not fire. Man and beast became mixed in a chaotic soup until one was almost indistinguishable from the other.

  Julian had never seen creatures so large or vicious before. They were easily half again as tall, and twice as heavy as the skittish creatures he first saw in the market. These gnarls were truly monsters.

  When the haze finally lifted, Julian found himself standing next to two pikemen. They jabbed the bladed spears at a large gnarl covered with blotches of black fur, trying desperately to keep the creature at a distance. The gnarl batted the pikes aside with a large clawed hand, showing absolutely no fear of the blades. It clutched a long, jagged-edged sword.

  With his shield gone, Julian clutched desperately to his sword with both hands. He ducked behind the pikemen, waiting and watching for any opportunity to attack. The pikes jabbed in, and Julian pushed off with his good leg and drove hard at the creature’s abdomen. In the blink of an eye, the massive creature turned aside, and with frightening speed swept its sword across at his face.

  The speed of the attack took Julian by surprise, and he barely got his sword up in time. The impact of the creature’s weapon was so violent it knocked his sword back into his face.

  Stars burst before his eyes, and he stumbled. There was a tremendous commotion around him. Men danced around, jabbing weapons and shouting. They were yelling at him.

  He was flat on his back. The pikemen worked to keep the large black gnarl at bay. Julian shook his head and thankfully, some of his wits returned. His sword was no longer in his hands, and his helm lay paces away, the nose guard bent and damaged. He couldn’t feel his face.