Misanthropy (Born of the Phoenix Book 2)

by David Murray Forrester

  Pushing back, Helina was appalled by his behaviour. “What do you think you’re doing, Haycox? You really wanna start me?”

  “I’ll fucking finish you.”

  “You won’t finish shit,” said Kelaire, standing beside Helina.

  “Neither of you know anything about battle. This defeat is yours to wear. I’m taking command now, and you will obey me!”

  “You certainly proved your battle-worth, didn’t you? What was your contribution? Oh, that’s right. You fell off your horse into the mud and did nothing! Such great deeds from the General!” Kelaire wanted to put her fist through his face. “Tell me Cox, how would you have turned the tide of battle, when you couldn’t even save your own horse?”

  “A small man points the finger of blame,” said Traciel.

  “Your Grace?” Haycox backed away from Helina. Surely the queen would take his side in this argument.

  “You’ve let me down, Ben.”

  Haycox stood motionless. The weight of those words, crushing.

  “With so many years of experience, your reaction to the ambush was pitiful. Personally, I was glad when you were appointed as rearguard. I had faith in you. He’s got my back. That’s what I told myself.” As the queen’s eyes pierced him, Haycox could feel the disappointment she harboured. “As rearguard, you were in the perfect position to rally the knights around you and launch an immediate counter attack,” grinding her teeth, Traciel continued. “Instead, just as Kelaire pointed out, you fell from your horse and did nothing. You weren’t even there to help Helina defend our escape. You were as useless as a legless mule. Now, while the men are trying to regroup and tend the wounded, you walk around shoving your finger in people’s faces, starting fights for the sake of pride.” Traciel gestured towards the bleeding men, “The north is perilous. We’ve just been dealt a horrific reminder of that fact. If we are going to succeed in our mission, we must stand united. I will not suffer discord.”

  The knights gathered, listening to the queen chastise their general.

  “This type of behaviour demands punishment. For failure to act accordingly in battle which directly led to the death of the knights serving under your command, Ben Haycox, I strip you of your rank of general and demote you to soldier status.”

  Soldier. A pit of emptiness spawned inside Haycox. His military career was all but over. The knights whom were previously under his command now out-ranked him, his prominence and renown were shattered. Lowering his head, Ben nodded.

  “Look at me!” ordered the queen. Their eyes met. “Acknowledge your new position.”

  It was a harsh penalty to which he did not wholly agree, yet accepted, being in no position to argue with the queen. Taking to one knee, he gazed up at the queen, ignoring the smug look painted upon Kelaire’s face. “I will serve as your soldier.”

  Jerron sighed. Traciel had attempted to teach the Ben humility. Knowing Haycox, he feared instead, the seeds of hatred had been planted. Nothing good was going to come of this.

  Chapter 4

  Patsy awoke, her back resting against Ravage’s body. It felt warm, cosy, more agreeable than it had during the night. Reaching out her hand, Patsy found her fingers running through long, soft fur and realised Hobson had replaced her friend. She snuggled into him. It was a relief to see the panguar after having spent the night listening to the nightmarish clamour of the shorkus in the ravine.

  The night felt endless, her dreams, disturbing. Now, as the morning sun crept across the room, the terror of the dark was ended.

  “Finally awake, are we?” Ravage, kneeling over the fire, slowly rotated a goat’s leg which dripped fat onto the quivering flames as it cooked.

  “That smells good.” Patsy closed her eyes, snuggling back into Hobson’s fur.

  “It’s a present from our cats. I’m guessing they want to keep us well-fed. Though, we need to teach them that the day starts with bacon, not goat shanks.”

  “Where’s Sabella?”

  “Wandering around outside, somewhere.” The roasting meat was making her mouth water. After a frugal dinner of potatoes and nuts, the meat, was going to be a delicious treat. “Probably, laying in the sun. It looks like it’s going to be a really nice day.”

  “Good for walking?”

  Ravage nodded. “Excellent weather, for walking.” Earlier, she had sat outside in the sun and taken water from the stream. The morning carried with it an essence of positivity. Rejuvenation was coursing through her and smiling, she continued rotating the meat. “This will be done soon. Why don’t you go wash your face and get yourself ready?”

  Grumbling, Patsy sat up. It was quite bright. “Alrighty,” and with a yawn, she arose, stretching her limbs as she walked outside.

  Basking in serenity, Patsy casually strolled to the stream, her skin absorbing the warmth of the new day. Summer was definitely on its way. Patsy was quite fond of summer heat. Warm nights, afternoon naps in the shade of old trees, she preferred it over the coldness of winter.

  Plants thrived along the banks of the stream. Lily pads, crowned in purple flowers, floated upon the surface, anchored by their long roots. Tadpoles swam in anarchy while others lingered, resting amongst the shelter of uniquely coloured river stones. As Patsy knelt, splashing water on her face, Sabella joined her. The panguar drank heartily and once finished, the pair walked side by side back to the ruinous tower.

  With their meal finished, Ravage sat, watching the flames fade as the wood burnt down to ash and embers. “We should be mindful of those shorkus while we’re heading north,” she said. “They might still be hanging around in the hills.”

  “We should be alright, I think.” If the colossal shorkus were to appear, they could probably out-run the hideous beasts by riding atop the panguar. Or, they could hide. Both were suitable options.

  “So, now that it’s a bit lighter, do you wanna check out the lower levels of the tower?” Since the tower was built with a military design, Ravage wondered if a cache of weapons was horded in a storeroom below. Even if the weapons were decrepit, they’d still be better than sharpened sticks.

  Patsy turned her gaze to the staircase. It didn’t appear as dark and frightening as it had the previous night. “Why not,” she said, rising to her feet.

  Dust and grime was caked upon the stairs. The temperature dropped as they descended, their footsteps echoing in the deep places.

  After three flights of stairs, the path onwards was blocked. Water, having flooded the lowered levels, denied their passage.

  “Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it?” Ravage sighed. It was a disappointing outcome.

  “Are you forgetting something?” Patsy raised her hand, the iridescent ring glistening on her finger. “These will let us explore as deeply as we wish to go.”

  “True. But it’s really dark, we won’t be able to see very much. Plus, any weapons down there will be rusted as shit.”

  “Oh. Yeah, you’ve got a point there.” Patsy scratched her forehead.

  “Never mind,” said Ravage. “We should head off now anyway. We’ve hung around here long enough. The day’s going to start getting away from us.”

  “Have you seen Mr Fours today?” Patsy asked as they ascended the stairs.

  “Nope. You?”

  Patsy shook her head. “He’s a strange little guy.”

  “He was surprisingly friendly once he realised we weren’t interested in hurting him.” Ravage remembered the look on his face as he ate the roasted chips and smiled to herself. “I wonder if we’ll come across more of his kind in the jungle?”

  “Who knows? Let’s just hope we manage to steer clear of the beasts who want to rip our faces off.” It was easy to joke about such things in the morning. However, Patsy knew crossing paths with the monsters of the north was unavoidable. She was confident they would survive the encounters, as they always had. Destiny was waiting for her. She could feel its presence lingering on the borders of her perception. Patsy couldn’t guess her fate. She was confident her journey
wouldn’t end in the digestive chamber of a shorku.

  The ravine, with its many wonders and oddities, continued to fascinate Ravage and Patsy as they journeyed north. Shorku tracks marred the grassy hills, evidence of their travels defacing the landscape.

  As the women approached a dike which stood surrounded by spires of rock, they beheld the grisly spectacle of a crushed human body; trampled by the foot of a colossal shorku. Venturing closer to the area, they found the rock spires heavily splashed with blood. Dozens of bones lay scattered. Broken and chewed, they were the remnants of a shorku feast.

  “Holy shit…” The horrific scene was repulsive, yet Patsy edged closer, eyes widened in dismay.

  “Not a nice way to go,” said Ravage. She picked up a piece of fabric, torn from a cloak. Blue and black, she recognised the design. “They were Shimpu Monks. Poor bastards.”

  “I wonder what they were doing here, so far away from home?” The Shimpu live in a grand monastery on the western borders of the Fornen Swamp. They care not for the empires in the south and rarely venture beyond the borders of their own land.

  “As you know, the Shimpu pray to many deities,” said Ravage. Slowly, she walked amongst the destroyed carcasses. Equipment, packs and weapons lay scattered in long grass whose blades were soiled red with blood. “But, the god to whom they are most devout is Arum’ol, Guardian of Blessed Waters.” A narrow, rectangular wooden box, wrapped with a green ribbon caught her eye and kneeling, she picked it up.

  “Arum’ol is a giant frog, right?”

  Ravage nodded. “He is. It’s said that he lays hidden within the caverns under these mountains. His aura of radiance penetrates deep into the mountain streams and the blessed waters flow all across the continent.” Gently, Ravage began untying the ribbon. “Every year the Shimpu journey to the mountains to give an offering to Arum’ol.”

  “A sacrifice?”

  “No. Not a sacrifice.” Removing the finely-carved wooden lid revealed the treasure inside. A stunning piece of jade stone, magnificently sculpted in the shape of a redokk swamp frog. Its eyes were brilliant sapphires. Sparkling garnets were set in its back, mimicking the frog’s spotted red pattern. “Here, take a look.” Ravage handed Patsy the box.

  The jade frog radiated with the passion and devotion of its creator. “It’s beautiful,” said Patsy. “What do you think we should do with it?”

  “Part of me wants to keep it,” she said. “It’s really, really stunning.” The deep textures of the jade stone were mesmerising. “Another part of me wants to finish what the monks started. To take the stone to the mountain caverns and leave it as an offering to Arum’ol.” Since they would be venturing close to the Fornen Swamp, Ravage felt it would be fortuitous to travel with Arum’ol’s divine blessing.

  “The mountain ranges stretch for hundreds of miles. We’ve got no idea where the monks leave their offerings.” Tradition was tradition. It felt right to Patsy, offering the statue to Arum’ol. The question now was where to take it.

  Gazing at the stream flowing along the centre of the ravine, an idea began to form in Ravage’s mind. “All the waterways in the mountains are connected. So, we should be able to leave the stone in any cavern which has a stream.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Mostly,” said Ravage. “It sounds simple, but it should work.”

  Rummaging through the monk’s supplies reaped great rewards. Preserved foods and medicinal salves, flints, serrated knives for cutting wood, blankets and weapons; finally, the pair was armed with steel. Sheathed longswords rested on their belts while they both carried a glaive in hand. The bladed polearm weapons magnificent, the monks were masterful in their craft. Dressed in comfortable shimpu garments and cloaks, Ravage and Patsy were now well equipped for their journey north.

  “We should head out of the ravine,” said Ravage, surveying the landscape. “If we head over there,” she pointed at the peak of a steep hill whose rocky slopes were littered with bent, aging trees, leafless and gnarled. “We should be up high enough to see everything that’s around.”

  “Let’s do it,” said Patsy. The bound leather of the glaive’s shaft felt comfortable, it was a nice change. The sharpened stick had left her hand scratched and dry. It was a child’s weapon, she was glad to be rid of it.

  As she stepped, Ravage’s foot bumped a hard object in the blood-soaked grass. Curiously, she probed it with her foot before bending down to retrieve it. A steel staff, its surface completely covered with elaborate engravings of creatures and swampland. “You can’t be serious,” Ravage muttered as she examined the staff. Hundreds of toherns had been painstakingly engraved with intricate detail and in the staff’s centre was a great dragon, whose fierce head was crowned in horns. “This is a scene depicting Galra’kor,” she said, gesturing for Patsy to join her.

  “Who?”

  “It was one of my favourite stories growing up. You don’t know it?” Ravage was surprised Patsy didn’t know the story of Galra’kor. Perhaps it wasn’t a fable regaled in the Meadow Lands.

  Patsy shrugged.

  “It’s mostly believed to be a myth, but there are a lot of people who think the story is true, though no-one really knows for sure, because it happened so long ago.”

  “So, who was Galra’kor?”

  “Galra’kor was a dragon,” said Ravage. Discarding the glaive, she rested the staff on her shoulder, walking slowly as she began the ancient fable.

  “Hang on a second,” said Patsy. “Did you just toss aside the glaive in favour of that staff? Are you crazy?” She wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. The glaive was tipped with a foot-long blade, the staff was just a plain, boring old staff.

  “This,” said Ravage holding up the staff, “is a work of art.” There was over a thousand hours of labour in the engravings. Ravage refused to part with such a masterpiece. She knew why Patsy was sassing her though and continued. “Sure, it doesn’t have a blade on it. But it’s heavier than the glaive so it can do some serious damage.”

  “Yeah, but to lose thrusting attacks? Come on Ravage, you have to agree that a glaive is a much more effective weapon than a staff.”

  “Ok, yes. A glaive is better, but look at this thing,” she said, admiring the staff once again. “I have to have it. If I leave it here, I’ll probably lay awake at night thinking about it. It’s not just a staff, it’s a piece of history.”

  Sabella and Hobson stood close by, sniffing the ground and watching the women curiously.

  “You’re an idiot,” said Patsy, shaking her head at her friend. “But it’s fine. I understand. Now, I believe you had a story for me.”

  “I do,” said Ravage. Again, she rested the staff on her shoulder and began making her way towards the gnarled hill. “When Sapphiron was young, the Fornen Swamp was teeming with swarms of toherns. Their main eyrie was nestled in the colossal branches of the Kasmanese, the three gigantic trees whose seedlings were said to have spawned the Trillian Jungle.” Ravage pointed north. “Look,” she said. “You can see the Kasmanese from here, off there on the very edge of the horizon.”

  “Those must be massive trees if we can see them from here.”

  “They are.” A frown shadowed Ravage’s face. “Only two of the trees are still standing. One was destroyed during the battle between Delenair and her brothers. It was during that battle that the Delphi Chasm was created.”

  “You look sad about that?”

  “Oh, it’s just I wish more things from the past still remained. So many ancient wonders have been destroyed over the eons.”

  Patsy nodded. In a way, she felt the same. Patsy may be unfamiliar with Galra’kor, but she knew all too well the infamous stories surrounding the war of the Delphi. “I couldn’t imagine living in that age, when Sapphiron was besieged with wars fought by monsters and gods.”

  “It was definitely not a good age for man. Our kingdoms fell. Sapphiron was treacherous. If it wasn’t for Delenair, Sapphiron would have been lost.” Secretly, Ravage
wished she could have seen it. To witness history and behold the sky, alight with warring gods and to feel the ground tremble in the wake of utter devastation.

  “Gods like Jobee are more my style,” smiled Patsy. “Beautiful and kind.”

  “And, she likes cats,” added Ravage. “Doesn’t she!” she said, ruffling Sabella’s thick mane.

  Admiring the ring upon her finger, Patsy once again, felt blessed.

  “Back to the story!” said Ravage, clearing her throat. “The tohern were ruled by Ocrealion. He was an alpha-royal, twice the size of the other tohern and his head was crowned in blue feathers. Ocrealion was so powerful, he would hunt and feast upon behemoths. He was an absolute monster. Easily, one of the most powerful creatures in Sapphiron. Then one day, a great storm surged across the ocean from Neorelle. It wreaked havoc across the entire north coast. Hundreds of miles of land were brought to ruin. Not only did the storm reap death, it carried within it, a dragon, trapped in the storm and dumped onto Sapphiron’s doorstep.”

  “A dragon?”

  “Not just any dragon.” Galra’kor was one of Ravage’s favourite legendary creatures. “He was a Vooresh dragon, the first lineage to spawn amongst the lava pits of Neorelle. Well, the Fornen Swamp was abundant with all manner of beasts and creatures for Galra’kor to feast upon. He settled right in, building himself a nest in the heart of the swamp. Among his prey were toherns. Ocrealion didn’t appreciate the intrusion into his swamp, nor the deaths of the members of his swarm. The tohern king gathered the hundred most powerful of his warriors and descended upon the dragon’s nest.”

  “That’s a lot of toherns. Surely Galra’kor fell? Or was forced from the swamp?” Patsy doubted a lone dragon could defeat such a mighty force of toherns. A hundred pairs of talons would rip a dragon to shreds.

  “You would think so. Any ordinary dragon would have met their end for sure. But, Galra’kor was a Vooresh. With fire, he incinerated the greatest part of Ocrealion’s force before taking to the sky and devouring the flesh of his enemies. The toherns were decimated. Ocrealion’s reign over Fornen was ended. Enraged, Galra’kor laid siege to the Kasmanese. He set the great trees ablaze. With fear, the remaining toherns fled the swamp. Galra’kor’s victory was absolute.”