Men’ak was busy weaving his own spell when the nearest attacked. Men’ak was distracted by his spell casting and didn’t react in time. He threw up his arm into the beast’s face and the wolven chomped down hard, sinking his fangs into the soft tissue of Men’ak’s arm. Men’ak screamed out in horror, as much as in pain.
“By the Ten, Dra’kor! Help —!”
Dra’kor whirled around and saw his friend on his back with the wolven tearing at his arm, throwing its head left and right as Men’ak screamed.
“— Hold on!” Dra’kor screamed as he bounded over a boulder and charged.
Dra’kor took two big strides toward his friend before he was cut off by another of the beasts.
Men’ak fumbled with his free arm, trying to grab his baselard. His hand slipped off of the knife’s handle as the beast tossed its head, tearing deeper into the tendons in his arm.
Men’ak grimaced and tried again, reaching the blade. He pulled it free, worked the razor sharp curved blade up to the wolven’s throat, and with a quick pull of his hand, slit the beast’s throat. The beast howled, letting Men’ak’s arm loose as it tried to get free of the blade, but Men’ak hacked and sliced as if possessed. The howl quickly turned into a gurgle as the beast rolled over dead.
Men’ak scampered away, clutching his bleeding arm.
Dra’kor rolled a summersault as the largest of the beasts prepared to jump and felt his sword slide into the meat of the wolven’s chest. He twisted the blade twice from side-to-side before yanking it out and rolling over to his friend who was clutching his injured arm.
Dra’kor flung his hand out to his side and beckoned a group of boulders to rain down on the three remaining beasts. The rocks slammed the beasts from multiple sides while Dra’kor’s eyes glowed red as he filled with rage.
The last of the wolven charged and lunged for Dra’kor’s exposed neck a split second before Dra’kor rolled to his right. Men’ak, cradling his injured arm against his chest, took one giant step and whirled around, his other arm fully extended holding his curved blade out in a white knuckled grip. The blade slid silently across the beast’s throat and cleanly severed the artery to its brain. The cut was so quick, the beast didn’t even feel it and continued its attack, but bled out before its jaws could clamp down on Dra’kor’s throat.
Dra’kor grabbed the jaws and yanked them open, his hands getting impaled on the sharp eyeteeth. His hands shook and trembled from the trauma of the attack. He ran to Men’ak’s side as he collapsed into the dirt. He grabbed his hand and gently talked to him. “Hold on dear friend. I’ll heal you ….”
He wove a spell and fed the magic into the mage who was pale from blood loss. The wound slowly sealed itself and started to scar over. Dra’kor had to take a short rest before he could continue. He was exhausted and couldn’t focus. He feared he would do more damage than help if he continued. He looked down, and for the first time, noticed that he was also bleeding. He turned his hands over and saw the clean puncture wounds that the beast’s teeth had left. He chanted and bent his fingers trying to cast his spell. Already he could feel his hands getting stiff, a few more minutes and he wasn’t sure he would have been able to finish the spell.
He pulled out an oilskin and held it to Men’ak’s lips. “Here, drink. You need to drink,” Dra’kor beckoned.
Men’ak took a few small sips, choking as the cool water slid down his parched throat. Dra’kor bent over and continued his healing. When he finished, he set his friend up against a rock. “Sit still for a while …” a concerned Dra’kor requested. “You should start to feel better in a few minutes.”
The healing had kicked in and Men’ak’s color had returned. “Thanks for saving me —,” he said. “That’s twice I owe you.”
“Forget about it,” said Dra’kor humbly. “Do you think you can walk?”
Dra’kor was trying to be gracious, but it just wasn’t in his nature. He had never been one to accept another’s gratitude or thanks. It just felt wrong for him to do so when he knew he was just doing right.
“I can try …,” Men’ak said, as he struggled to get to his feet, but fell over. “I might need a few more minutes,” he said, grimacing from landing on his bad arm.
“I’m afraid I’m going to be worthless if we are attacked any time soon —,” he apologized.
“We’ll manage, at least I hope we —” said Dra’kor unconvincingly.
The two magi sat on the bare ground resting for a couple minutes. Dra’kor cleaned his sword and Men’ak rubbed his arm.
“How do you think people without magic survive?” Men’ak blurted out.
“They manage, I suppose,” Dra’kor responded. “I suppose they grew up not being able to rely on it and had to learn better weapon skills than we have —”
“I just can’t figure out how they manage to stay alive …,” Men’ak grumbled. “If not for our magic, we’d …,” his voice trailed off not being able to finish the sentence.
“Well, that’s neither here nor there —” Dra’kor said, standing up. He reached over, grabbed Men’ak by the collar, and lifted.
Men’ak pushed himself to his feet with his good arm, leaning a bit on his spear. “— We can go now. I’ll be okay,” he sighed, resigning himself to dealing with the pain.
The two continued their walk down the road toward the town. They set a good pace, but not so fast that they’d become winded. Men’ak’s arm was starting to feel better and he no longer coddled it. He held it out in front, then to the side, constantly flexing his fingers, stretching out the newly mended muscles and tendons.
He took out his goatskin water bag and took another long drink. He was feeling well enough to try to heal himself and so he fed a thin thread of healing magic into his arm and his sore hip. He grimaced occasionally as the tendons and muscle healed, but he didn’t yell out or show any outside indication of the pain he was in.
They broke free of the trees at the bottom of the valley and saw the town across the open field. They momentarily paused at the edge of the fields. They started to head for the town, and could just make out people waving at them from the top of logged fortifications. It appeared to them that the town had erected walls around the main buildings, probably to keep the wolven out. They couldn’t make out what the townsfolk were yelling, but it was obvious that they were trying to get their attention.
The two magi waved back.
“What do you think they are saying?”
“Who knows?” replied Dra’kor. “I guess we can ask them in a few minutes.”
“Looks like they are getting very excited,” Men’ak said, pointing at the people shouting from the top of the makeshift battlement. “Looks like someone is waving a big white flag!”
Dra’kor was the first to figure it out. “They’re shouting a warning,” he yelled at Men’ak as he started to run. “Let’s hurry —”
Men’ak looked around and saw a pack of wolven running down the side of the valley to the north. Men’ak broke into a full run and pointed. “W-w-wolven!” he cried.
The two mages were running full out heading for the town. They could clearly hear the voices of the people yelling for them to hurry. Dra’kor saw archers at the top of their walls standing ready with bows loaded and drawn.
The wolven were gaining on them, trying to cut them off from the town. Men’ak’s chest felt as though it was going to explode. His lungs ached and his vision was blurring from both the pain and the lack of air. He felt himself starting to slow down.
“Keep running!’ Dra’kor yelled, grabbing Men’ak’s arm and helping him along.
Dra’kor looked back over his shoulder and saw that the beasts were only a hundred or so paces behind them. He knew they weren’t going to make it. He saw the looks on the faces of the people on the battlement, the fear, the hope. So he kept running.
The archers on the wall let loose a volley of arrows that came precariously close to Dra’kor and Men’ak. The two hoped that their aim was true. The second v
olley caught a few of the wolven, knocking them to the ground, but a group of three still chased. Dra’kor pushed his friend toward the gate and turned to face the beasts alone. He stood firm with his small sword in one hand and his long dagger in the other and set his feet.
The arrows from the next volley took down another of the beasts, as Dra’kor stared into the yellow eyes of the remaining two. The two beasts jumped in unison, going for his throat. Dra’kor rolled to one side landing on one knee. He used all his momentum and strength to swing his sword, cutting clean through the belly of the beast as it flew over the location where his head had been scant seconds before.
He felt the magically enhanced, razor-sharp sword slice cleanly through the beast and without even a second’s hesitation. He stepped up and drove forward with his dagger, plunging it deep into the beast’s eye socket. The beast howled, shuddered and collapsed in a pile. He yanked his hand free, rotated on the ball of his foot to face the other wolven as it reversed its direction, and prepared to leap.
“They’re too close, I can get off a shot,” someone shouted from the top of the wall. “I’ll hit ‘em if I try to get another —”
“— Hold your fire,” another growled.
The beast leapt and Dra’kor dove into a somersault, reversed to the side and with a long sweeping action sliced with his blade, just nicking the animal’s flank. He spun around and set his feet wide, preparing to leap either way. The beast was in a low crouch, snapped its teeth and bared its fangs growling. The fur on the wolven’s nape was hackled as it glared with its bloodshot yellow eyes. Dra’kor growled back, waving his sword, keeping the beast at bay.
The wolven charged left, but changed direction at the last second, coming in from the right. Dra’kor had only a second to extend his dagger. The weapon slid into the skin of the wolven’s neck, but failed to mortally wound the beast, which snapped at Dra’kor’s hand, narrowly missing. Dra’kor fell backwards and did rolled immediately to his feet, at the ready.
The beast came in again, fast. This time Dra’kor tumbled to his left and tucked his blade from his side as the beast pounced. It landed square on the blade, its weight pushing the blade between the ground and its body as it slid down on the blade, crushing Dra’kor.
The people on the battlement went still as they watched the event unfold. They stared out into the field as Men’ak ran to his friend. He hefted and pushed the wolven over and saw his friend lying there, not moving. He shook his arm.
“Dra’kor! Dra’kor!” He shouted frantically, falling to his knees, putting his head to his friend’s chest.
“No!” He cried out when he couldn’t rouse his friend. He pounded his hands in the dirt, consumed with grief, “not Dra’kor too!”
Dra’kor coughed and gasped a big breath of air, rolling to his side. Men’ak grabbed him and pulled him to his lap, “I thought I had lost you, you fool mage.”
“I don’t die that easy …,” Dra’kor whispered into his friend’s ear with a weak smile.
Dra’kor pushed himself to a sitting position. “— That hurt,” He mumbled as he pushed himself to his knees and heard the jubilant shouting and the sound of bows clapping on the wall.
The two magi looked up and saw that everyone on the battlement was shouting and dancing. They saw the tall wooden gates open and three men ran out to help them into the town. They held pitchforks and sickles and warily scanned the horizon as they ventured out.
A dark brown dog rushed out and started barking loudly at the dead wolven. It jumped in and out and from side-to-side, baring its teeth and growling between the yelps and howls. It rushed in, snapped at a leg, and swung its head from side-to-side trying to rip the leg off.
“Bones! Bones! Get out of there,” a man yelled, chasing the dog away.
“Bloody well done!” One of the men shouted as he clapped Dra’kor on the back, causing him to wince.
Soon they were joined by a handful of folks, men and women alike, all shouting at them at the same time.
Someone shouted at Men’ak, grasping his hand, “Well met, welcome to Three Rivers!” he said, shaking his hand vigorously. “B-Bloody good fight!”
The man with the wide gap-toothed grin wore a large, sweat-banded straw hat and a pair of well-worn britches, threadbare at the knees. His boots were unlaced and the leather almost bare at the toe. He held a pitchfork and his hands were callused, tough as leather. Men’ak was sure he was a simple farmer, although he could have been a carpenter. The man pulled on his hand and Men’ak shot to his feet.
“You’re the first people we’ve seen in over three months, didn’t think you were gonna make it!” the third winked.
Dra’kor turned to look to see who was talking to him. The man with the well-aged and tanned face seemed a little tipsy to Dra’kor and he thought he smelled ale. He wasn’t old, but he had a touch of gray in his hair. Dra’kor tried to remember how normal people aged, but he had so little experience with it, he decided to not even try.
The man’s clothes were in better shape than the other two and his hands were less rough than the other two. The pants were clean, unusual for a common worker and he had a set of leather suspenders keeping them up. The shirt was collared, not open necked. Dra’kor wondered if this man was the leader, although he wasn’t sure why you’d put someone who smelled of drink by midmorning in charge.
“Well, don’t stand there gabbing,” an old woman scolded. “Them beasts could be back at any time.”
“Let’s get you inside,” someone said, as the townsfolk grabbed the two strangers and after throwing their arms over their shoulders, helped them limp through the heavy wood gate.
A small lad, not more than four, peered out from between the men and darted away from his mom, rushing over to get the knapsacks and half-carried, half dragged them in. Men’ak watched as the mother grabbed the boy by the ear and gave him a good swat while giving him a piece of her mind. She was none too pleased with his running off. Men’ak smiled, remembering all the times his mother had done the exact same thing.
A small group of town folk pushed the gate shut, straining against the old iron hinges, as a big burly man lifted the end of the gate off the ground and carried it until it was closed. They scurried, quickly hefting an immense shaved log overhead and letting it drop into the rusty iron brackets that were about head high, securely locking the doors. They pushed logs, held in metal shackles riveted to the face of the gate down into hollow logs set deep into the dirt, securing the bottom of the gates as well.
A woman pushed her way to the magi, shoving the men out of the way. “Leave the poor men alone — Brag. Give ‘em some room to breathe. They just finished fighting the dark lord his self!” She handed the two ladles of cool water from a bucket she was carrying.
The two men took turns drinking, their hands still quivering from the adrenalin rush of the fight. By now, a fair-sized group of town folk had gathered. Men’ak smiled at a small boy clinging to his mother’s apron. Men’ak noticed that she was holding another that was nursing.
There were a fair number of small children running around. He couldn’t help but grin. He hadn’t been around the wee ones in centuries. He missed their giggles and laughter.
Men’ak heard a small boy talking to his mother, “Are they the ones, mommy? Did they beat the beasts and kill ‘em dead?”
The mother quieted the lad and shooed him away.
“Didn’t think you’d make it,” Brag said, matter-of-factlyly.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Men’ak wryly, as he wiped his brow. “You could have given us a hand —”
“— We’re not fighters, like you. We’d just get killed.” Brag mumbled apologetically. “We tried helping before and lost a couple good men, so now we just wait and see.”
“We aren’t fighters either,” an exhausted Men’ak spat. “We’re … merchants from the highlands.”
“Well, you fight better than any merchants I ever seen …,” someone in the crowd grumbled. Ther
e were several ‘aye’s’ that echoed.
“Can’t be too careful,” Men’ak said. “Hills are full of highwaymen wantin’ to take what ye got —!”
“— Right!” Dra’kor quickly added. “Our employer trained us for basic fighting.”
“Well, you done good,” Brag said. “— a bit beat up ye are, but time will heal ye both.”
“Well, I reckon we won’t be going anywhere soon!” Men’ak grinned.
“Then you two will be needing a room I suppose,” Brag stated flatly.
“Well, we weren’t gonna stay that long, but given the beasts outside the walls and our general condition, I reckon we do!” said Dra’kor, with a chuckle.
“— Then gather your things and let’s get you to the inn so you can clean up a bit and maybe have a warm meal.”
“That would be great,” a grateful Men’ak said, as he calmed down and nodded.
“There might not be any fresh fruits or green, due to none of the crops growing right — but Ms. D’Arron always has a good stew or soup on the hook and her bread is second to none.”
Dra’kor and Men’ak groaned as they stood. Dra’kor caught a younger woman, just past her teens staring at him. He smiled at her and watched her blush as she straightened her dress and fiddled with her straw-colored hair. Her mother caught the exchange of glances and scowled at Dra’kor, grabbing her daughter by the arm and yanking her back toward town.
They brushed the dusty dirt from their pants and jackets and picked up their packs, nodding a quick thanks to the boy who brought them in. The barefoot lad was beaming from ear to ear.
Men’ak was hunched over. “Blazes! I’m so stiff,” Men’ak complained as he tried to straighten. “I feel centuries old.”
The group around them laughed, not understanding that he was serious. Dra’kor just gave him a smirked sneer and a grunt.
They started to walk down the main street, heading for the inn, which Brag already pointed out. Dra’kor could feel that he had a few deep cuts, so he sent a small thread of healing magic into the wounds. He feared using too much in case someone might notice. There was no telling if a dark mage was nearby, so he used just enough to stem the flow of blood and seal over the wound. His face contorted at the pain, but given what they had been through, no one would have suspected anything.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep Page 38