“Not yet,” Myra replied. “I told you it would take a year or so before the grass even started to grow.”
“I thought you might have been exaggerating.”
“I wasn't,” she explained. “But, it's not going to matter, either way.”
“Why is that?”
“Lord Grathis has already replaced it,” Sarrac replied.
“So, there was basically no reason to break it?”
“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” the ogre said. “Dark shards are very difficult to make. You can be sure Grathis isn't happy that we broke one. He just happened to be able to replace it this time. If we can find a way to break a few more, however, it probably won’t be so simple for him.”
“Then, we should try to do that,” Paul pointed out.
“We intend to,” Alena replied.
After this brief snippet of conversation, silence once again returned to the ranks of the little band. There was something oppressive about the dark lands that wore away at the spirits of the living. The same unholy power that left the trees struggling for life and hid the sun behind a veil of gray mist, served as a sedative to repress all sense of happiness and hope.
The few days that Paul had spent back home had dulled his recollections of these regions. His memory was quickly refreshed, however, by the feeling of dread that seemed to fill the forest. It was no place for the living, and the young man felt it unfortunate that women and children had to endure a life of hiding within its dark recesses.
As the group drew near a clearing, Sarrac raised his hand in silence; bringing the band to a halt, before drawing his sword. His companions immediately followed his example and Paul quickly maneuvered his horse to the side of the ogre's mount.
“What is it?” the young man whispered.
“I just have the feeling things are too quiet,” Sarrac replied.
“Well, shouldn't things be quiet?” Paul asked. “I mean; they're hiding from the undead.”
“They are,” the ogre agreed. “But, you can't keep a camp of close to a hundred men this quiet. Especially when they know they're miles from anyone who might hear them.”
“How far is the camp from here?”
“Not very,” Sarrac replied. “And really, we should have already been stopped by the sentries.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Head into camp,” Sarrac answered. “We just need to be careful.”
“Then, we will be. Lead on.”
The ogre gently kicked his horse into motion again, his companions following a short distance behind; all of them doing their best to be prepared for whatever they might encounter. Just minutes later, the party found themselves in the middle of a clearing filled with the bodies of fallen Warriors and former undead.
“It looks like they found the camp,” Paul observed, gazing down at the broken bodies that littered the area.
“So, it would seem,” Alena agreed. “At least our side won.”
“How can we be sure of that?” the young man asked.
“First off,” she replied, “Thaelen isn't among the fallen and there were almost a hundred Warriors here. I only see seven of ours.”
“I can see that,” he agreed.
“Plus, of course,” she continued. “The undead wouldn't leave all these bodies just laying around. They'd have started eating them by now.”
“Unfortunately, I’d have to agree with that assertion, as well...”
“So, we can be sure the attack was defeated and that Thaelen moved the camp,” she finished.
“Well, what do we do now?” the young man asked.
“We follow,” was Sarrac's simple reply.
“How do we know where they went?”
“They had to have left within the last couple of days,” the ogre replied. “Based on that, we can tell which of our campsites they would have headed for.”
“Which is it?”
“The one at the foot of Winpar mountain.”
“How long will it take us to get there?”
“About two more days.”
“Great,” Joey replied. “I'm getting saddle sores, and we've got to spend two more days riding... How long can it possibly take for these drugs to wear off?”
“I was here for weeks last time,” Paul pointed out.
“Well, that's just perfect! By then, I'll have ridden a horse to death!”
“You can't actually do that,” Myra pointed out. “I felt the same way right after I wasn't undead anymore, but it'll get better after a few days.”
“Well, that is good news!” he said sarcastically. “Paul, remind me after I wake you up, that I don't ever want to spend the night at your house again!”
“I'll try to remember,” the young man chuckled.
Almost instantly, the band was once again in motion; heading even deeper into the depths of the dark forest. Perhaps an hour before the sun set, Sarrac decided to bring their journey, temporarily, to an end. The addition of two days’ travel, coupled with another mouth to feed, meant they would need to stretch their rations as best they could - and that meant foraging.
As the ogre set out in the quickly failing light to attend to this, the ogress handed a sword to Joey.
“What's this for?” he asked, gazing up at her from where he sat on the ground.
“Do you know anything of swordplay?” she replied.
“No,” he chuckled. “There's not a lot of call for it back home.”
“Then, how did you impress the girls?”
“What?”
“I told her about guys sword fighting at conventions,” Paul explained.
“That don't impress the girls,” Joey replied.
“It does some girls.”
“Any that you know?”
“Well, not off the top of my head, but...”
“It doesn’t matter,” Alena interrupted. “In Zanoth, it helps keep you alive; so you're going to have to learn something of it.”
“Better and better,” Joey said, shaking his head and slowly climbing to his feet.
With very obviously stiff limbs, the young man followed Alena's initial instructions. She showed him the basics of stance and some simple foot work before beginning slowly, and carefully, to spar with him. Three times in half as many minutes, she disarmed him; knocking the blade from his weak and weary hands. For a third time, he recovered his sword and for a fourth time, it flew from his grasp.
“This is incredible,” the ogress said, shaking her head. “No, in fact, it's more than that: it's unbelievable. I've never seen anyone with less natural talent.”
“I appreciate the encouragement!” Joey replied sarcastically, stepping over to retrieve his blade once again. “I want you to know that it's a genuine pleasure to work with such an obviously gifted teacher. I mean; even with what little talent I have, you've already taught me how to have a sword knocked out of my hand in mere seconds. Who knows how long it would have taken someone else to teach me that?”
“Are you trying to say I'm a bad teacher?”
“Well, I'll tell you this,” he replied. “Back home I was considered an extremely fast learner.”
“If what you had to learn to do was drop things, I can easily believe it,” she observed.
“Don't be a cow, Alena,” Paul chuckled.
“What's a cow, again?” the ogress asked.
“Never mind,” the young man replied, shaking his head. “I think I’d better take a shot at teaching him myself.”
“By all means,” she replied, taking a seat near the small fire in the middle of their camp.
Paul took a few minutes to give his friend a number of additional pointers before the pair began sparring. Once again, the sword seemed to leap from Joey's hand with almost no provocation whatsoever. Both Myra and Alena did their best to watch on in supportive silence, but couldn't completely repress their laughter as Joey lunged, slashed, and parried hopelessly against his companion. Finally, he tripped over a root; falling flat on his back, and throwin
g his sword behind him with enough force to stick it into a nearby tree.
“Mmmm,” Paul hummed, nodding his head as he helped his friend to his feet. “This may take some time...”
“I don't think we have that much time,” Alena laughed. “He is terrible.”
“Thank you, Madam Cow,” Joey replied with a slight bow. “It's good of you to notice.”
“You'll get it, bro,” Paul said encouragingly, brushing his friend's back off as he spoke. “It's just going to take some practice.”
“I don't want be discouraging,” the ogress began.
“Oh, I'm sure!” Joey interjected.
“But, it's going to take more than practice,” she continued. “I mean; he can't keep a sword in his hand for half a minute at a time. Haven't you ever chopped wood, or used a hammer, or even ever just hit something with a stick before?”
“Of course I have!” Joey replied defensively. “In fact, I was an Olympic stick hitter back home.”
“Olympic?” she asked.
“He's being sarcastic,” Paul explained. “Anyway, man, you're probably just tired.”
“Oh, I am!” Joey agreed. “There's no doubt about that! I'm very tired, extremely sore, and sick to death of LSD! You'd think I'd be able to fight in my own dream. I'm going to talk to a psychiatrist next week. It's blindingly obvious that I have some kind of complex...”
“Are you sure this Administrator person said he would be useful?” the ogress asked.
“I am,” Paul nodded. “Well, what they actually said was: could prove useful. From context, I think they meant will prove useful.”
“I can't see how,” she replied. “Not unless he ends up getting between you and an arrow or something.”
“Thank you,” Joey smiled. “It's good to know that you can at least imagine some way in which I could be of use.”
“That's just how she thinks,” Paul explained with a chuckle. “Alena sees all life as expendable, provided it can be used to stop the undead.”
“Oh, I can see that!” Joey nodded excitedly. “What better way to stop them than to die at them?!”
“I don't see life as expendable,” she corrected. “It's just that, at the moment, I can't imagine how you're going to be of any help to Paul. I mean; he's the it. He slaughters undead on a fairly regular basis now. What use could someone like you possibly be to someone like him?”
“That's it!” Joey replied, snapping his fingers. “That's the complex!”
“What's the complex?” Paul asked.
“Okay, bro,” Joey said with a sigh, turning his eyes to his friend. “I can tell you this because none of this is really happening and so you won't know I ever said it.”
“Alright...” the young man replied slowly.
“You see, bro,” he continued. “In almost every friendship... Well, almost every friendship between two or more guys anyway... There is the cool friend and the not-so-cool friend.”
“I'm with you so far.”
“Well, now... and I don't mean to offend you at all... But, back home - which is to say in reality - I am by far and away the cool friend. You, on the other hand, are very clearly the not-so-cool friend.”
“Mmmm.”
“I mean; look at us,” he continued. “You're not nearly as buff as me... back home I mean... Obviously, you're buffer than I am here; but that's just because of my own guilty feelings.”
“What?” Paul interjected with a laugh.
“I'm doing my best to explain,” Joey replied. “So, please, try to pay attention.”
“Oh, I'm trying,” the young man laughed again.
“Good. So, I'm buffer than you, tanner than you, just generally more popular than you, I actually know what's going on during football games and baseball games, and I don't know near as much as you do about all those stupid MMOs you want me to play. Plus, I'm way better with women than you are.”
“You are?”
“I mean; back home,” Joey explained, shooting a glance at Myra. “Obviously, you're doing better than me in this dream, at least at the moment. That's all part of the complex, too.”
“I see.”
“Even though you're taller than me,” he continued, “you're even awkward about that. You're not taller than me like a basketball player would be, you're taller than me like Lurch from the Addams Family. You don't have the kind of tall that impresses people; you have the kind that makes girls think you're a stalker. You see what I'm saying?”
“Right up until the complex part.”
“Isn't it obvious?” Joey chuckled.
“No...”
“Well, clearly I feel bad for knowing all of this! We're best friends and so, I feel guilty for being better than you at almost everything.”
“You know,” Paul said thoughtfully. “I think I agree with you: you clearly do have a complex.”
“That's what I'm saying!” Joey replied, lifting his hands. “That's why, in this delusion, you're the hero and I'm a loser. It's not your fault that you're not as cool as me and that's giving me a mental issue. Of course, on the other hand, it's not my fault that I'm cooler than you. So, I'm just going to have to make peace with myself and learn to live with it.”
“How do you plan to do that, exactly?”
“Paul,” Joey replied, grabbing his friend by the shoulders and gazing directly into his eyes. “I want you to know that I don't care that you're a complete geek. We're friends and we always will be. When we get back home, I'm going to help you become less of a nerd. Believe or not, I really love you, man.”
“Yeah...” Paul nodded. “I love you too, bro... I guess...”
“Cool,” Joey smiled.
“So...” the young man said slowly. “Are you cured now?”
“Absolutely!” he replied before running over to wrench his sword from the tree in which it was embedded. “Now, let's try this again!”
Thirty seconds later, Joey's sword was once again laying on the dirt.
“I don't understand it...” he said slowly. “I must have deeper issues than I thought.”
“That's probably it,” Paul asserted. “Either way, I think we should call it a night.”
“I suppose you're right...” Joey ceded. “Still, I was sure telling you I love you right to your face like that would do the trick.”
“Maybe try it on a woman next time,” the young man suggested.
“Yeah... I think I will,” his friend agreed.
Just minutes after the last of Joey's failures, Sarrac returned to camp swinging a sack filled with foraged food.
“Find anything good?” Paul asked without the slightest hint of hope.
“Actually, I did,” the ogre nodded. “In fact, I got extremely lucky. I ran up on a nest of Unncar worms.”
“You didn't?” Alena asked excitedly.
“I did,” he replied with a wide smile, pulling a large, pale, and rather bloated grub-like insect from the bulging bag in his hand.
“I can't believe you found a nest this far out in the dark lands,” Myra observed.
“Like I said: I got lucky.”
“You don't seriously mean for us to eat those do you?” Paul asked, staring at the worm from under a single raised eyebrow.
“Why not?” the fair maiden asked. “They're delicious.”
“Don't say that,” the young man replied, shaking his head. “In fact, never say that again. I'm completely positive that you can't possibly know, because I'm absolutely certain you've never eaten one. If you have, I don't want to know about it. So, please don't tell me.”
“They really are good,” Alena assured him.
“I'm really not going to find out,” Paul counter-assured her.
“Let me see one,” Joey said, taking the pulsating creature from Sarrac's hand. “You can't be afraid to try new things, bro. They say they're good and they should know. They live in this dream world of mine. Besides, it's not like we'll have actually eaten them.”
Having said this, he threw the worm
into his mouth and began chewing vigorously.
“Gah!” he said fractions of a second later, spitting as much of the worm as he could onto the ground. “Gah! That is the grossest thing I've ever put in my mouth! Are you sure they're not poisonous?!”
“I am,” Sarrac said, gazing at him in wonder. “But we normally clean and cook them before we eat them.”
“What?! Why didn't you tell me that?!”
“You didn't really give us a chance,” Alena pointed out. “I mean, you threw it in your mouth so fast...”
“Stop right there!” Joey demanded. “Please, don't say another word. I never even want to think about that again, much less talk about it. Hopefully, I'll have forgotten this part of the dream by the time I wake up.”
“Well, let's hope so,” Paul laughed.
Moments after this exchange, the ogre and ogress were sitting by the fire cutting off the worms' heads, as well as the tips of their tails, as the two young men watched on in disgust. Myra gathered a number of long, slender sticks, onto which she began skewering the cleaned worms. Minutes later, the scent of their cooking flesh filled the air. Much to Paul's dismay, he found the smell extremely appetizing. However, as the beautiful maiden lifted one of the grub covered sticks to her mouth, the young man felt he had to speak.
“Please don't eat that, Myra,” he said, staring at her with a look of repugnance on his face. “If you do, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to kiss you again.”
“I could,” Joey pointed out.
“Shut up, bro,” the young man said. “Seriously, I can't just sit here and watch you eat a steaming hot grub.”
“Then, turn your head,” she laughed. “They taste great, Paul, no matter what they look like.”
“That's no reason to eat one,” he replied.
“Here,” she said, pulling a worm for her skewer and moving over to his side. “Taste it.”
“I'd rather not.”
“Just taste it,” she insisted, holding it inches from his mouth.
The young man's resolve completely collapsed in the face of the fair female's request. As a result, he leaned forward, taking a bite of the large, pale, steaming worm. To his utter amazement, it had the taste, as well as the texture, of cooked shrimp. After half-a-second's worth of consideration, he took the other half-a-worm from her hand and instantly consumed it. Just minutes later, both the young men were munching away on their very own worm-kebabs.
The Fortress of Donmar (The Tales of Zanoth Book 2) Page 3