by Robe
A raider with flourishes on either side of its helmet that resembled the leathery wings of a bat was galloping toward him. It raised its sword and shield in the air and then charged toward Auric. With no choice other than to evade his attacker, Auric dove aside and the raider’s horse stomped past him. He watched the knight turn its horse, and he got to his feet.
As the knight approached him, Thraun appeared, stepping between Auric and his attacker and raising his hand. The raider accelerated his animal again, and Thraun created a transparent barrier. Auric watched, anxious for the result of the two forces colliding, but Thraun stood confidently, his head high and his hand unwavering. The knight slammed into the wall. A ripple traveled the span of the shield, but it held. However, the raider and his steed were not so lucky, and they tumbled to the ground with a clatter.
Thraun dropped the barrier and Auric wasted no time in pinning the knight with his sword. As he looked into the raider’s helmet, he saw nothing within, no locks of hair or glowing eyes. Suddenly, Auric became aware of the steed, rising and nearing him. It took only a sidelong glance for Auric to realize that the horse was attacking him, and he threw himself sideways to avoid its hooves. He just barely evaded its stamping feet and watched through the horse’s legs as the raider pulled itself up onto its steed’s back before galloping away from the battle.
“Are you alright?” Auric asked Thraun.
“Of course,” Thraun replied, and the two looked around as the noises of battle faded. Most of the raiders had retreated, and only a few were still in view.
As Auric look around and listened, he thought he heard a crying that sounded like Ziem. He rushed back to the docks with Thraun beside him and found his friend wailing and nursing his left arm, which was curved at a sickening angle.
“It’s alright, Ziem,” Auric said, quickly kneeling beside his friend. “It’s alright. They’re gone.” His nerves almost took hold of him as he looked at his friend’s injury, but he suppressed the nausea and gently lifted Ziem’s arm, which caused Ziem to cry out louder. Auric pulled his knife from his belt and slashed away the sleeve of Ziem’s cloak and pushed it aside. “Thraun, hold him.”
Thraun sat behind Ziem and held his good arm still whilst pulling Ziem’s head under his chin. Auric looked to make sure Thraun had Ziem tightly, and upon seeing Thraun’s face and color, he said, “Don’t look.” Thraun did as he was told and averted his gaze.
A moment later, Ziem screamed and his body spasmed fiercely. It took all of Thraun’s strength to hold the boy down, and after several more seconds, the seizing stopped. He looked at Ziem’s arm and saw it was back in the correct position.
“Th-thanks…” Ziem sputtered through tears.
“You still need to see the healer,” Auric said with his most calm voice. “You did well, though.” He wiped the tears from Ziem’s face and then looked at the carnage around him. Many others were wounded much worse than Ziem had been, and as treatment came, some of them were carried away with blankets covering their faces. Commanding Thraun to stay with Ziem, he left them to do what he could to help the wounded and dying.
“You dare defy me?” Argain spat, and a vine blasted from the ground at his prisoner’s feet, striking the man across the face. The man recoiled and reached up to touch his cheek as it flushed and swelled. As he looked up, the vine once again lashed out, catching him in the face a second time and knocking him down. Behind him, Argain’s other captive, the female, shrieked until the Evil God gave her a look that made her close her mouth. “I am your maker,” Argain spoke. “You will obey me.”
“You’re not my god,” the man said, and he tried to stand back up. Again the vine struck him down, and then several more vines erupted from the ground behind Argain.
“Perhaps some discipline will change your mind,” the Evil God said, and he stepped backwards. The vines sprang into action, whipping out at the man beneath them. He tried for an instant to withstand but quickly realized no amount of toughness could tolerate such a beating. As the vines lashed and struck at him, he was forced back to the ground and curled into a defensive position, his clothes ripping and shredding against the attacks. Long slashes appeared on his back, visible through the tears in his garment.
“Stop! Stop!” the woman cried. “You’ll kill him!”
Argain looked thoughtfully at the woman, and the vines ceased their attack. He walked up to the battered and bloodied man and knelt beside him. “Are you ready to do as you’re told yet?”
“I won’t,” was all the captive could gasp through his whimpers and tears.
Argain stood, unsurprised, and glanced at his other prisoner. A vine shot forward and entangled her, pulling her toward the Evil God. She struggled as hard as she could against the constricting tendrils but was helpless to resist their tugs. Argain grabbed her arm and thrust her in the view of his other captive. “And if I torture her? Then will you surrender your power to my purpose?”
The two captives looked at each other, and although the woman shook her head in a display of mighty courage, the man’s eyebrows upturned and his eyes went wide. “Alright,” he sputtered after a few seconds of consideration. “Just don’t hurt us anymore.”
“There, there,” Argain said, patting the cheek of the woman and causing her to recoil in disgust. “I knew you would be reasonable in the end.”
20
Shortly after the battle had concluded, Ziem found himself in a small Martin home, opened generously to him by its owners in appreciation for his sacrifice. Thraun obeyed Auric’s orders and watched over the wounded boy to ensure his safety. The owners of the house, a Martin couple who had shown Ziem nothing but hospitality since taking him in, had been involved in the battle but were fortunately unscathed. Believing it was their duty to look after those who hadn’t been as lucky as they had, they gently ushered Ziem into a bed where he could rest in privacy. After notifying Auric where he and Ziem had gone, Thraun rushed to rejoin his companion.
“Feeling alright?” the Martin woman asked as she entered the room, bearing a tray with two bowls and bread rolls. “I figured you might be hungry.” She set the tray down on a nearby table. “My name is Aileem, and my husband is Tarenth. The village healer has been notified you’re here and that you require attention, but for now, this should help.”
A sling hung over her arm, and she moved to Ziem’s side, carefully lowering it over his head and allowing his damaged arm to rest suspended from the smooth fabric. She smiled at them and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Ziem’s arm was still rife with agony, but it was much less than before Auric had done what he could for the injury. He and Thraun ate a little, but for the most part, their appetites were not strong so soon after the fighting had ended.
“Are you alright?” Thraun asked Ziem again.
Ziem shrugged with his right shoulder. “I’ve been better.”
“If there’s anything I can get you, don’t hesitate to ask,” Thraun said.
“I’m alright. Thank you,” Ziem replied, and the two were quiet for a while.
“Strange that the attackers retreated,” Thraun broke the silence. “It looked to me like they could have done more damage without much risk.”
The only response Ziem gave was another half-shrug.
“How did it happen?” Thraun inquired, nodding to Ziem’s arm.
“A horse,” Ziem said. “It was stupid of me… I should have moved aside.”
“One of the raider’s mounts?” Thraun asked.
Ziem nodded. “I’ve never felt anything so painful in my life.”
Thraun touched Ziem’s shoulder, and the two jumped as the door opened and Auric entered, his face anxious. He relaxed when he saw Ziem lying safely in the bed before him. His cloak was bloody at the torso and sleeves. “I came as soon as everyone was tended to,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Ziem said.
“These are good people who took you in,” Auric said, noticing the provision
s and sling. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you.”
“Don’t apologize. You were clearly needed,” Ziem said, eyeing the blood staining Auric’s clothes. “What’s it like out there?”
Auric shook his head. “Many of the Martins were killed.”
Behind Auric, another person walked in, an elderly Martin with many lines creasing his face. He wore a big robe lined with deep pockets, all of them filled with intricate tools and colorful phials. “I am Healer Whencetos,” he introduced himself. “Now, what injuries have you sustained?”
“His arm,” Auric said. “Fractured, I think.”
“Let me have a look, then,” Whencetos said, approaching Ziem and removing his arm from the sling. He inspected Ziem’s forearm, feeling around the affected area and causing Ziem to hiss, squeezing his eyes shut to bear the pain.
“I see,” Whencetos said. “This has already been set to some degree, correct?”
“Yes,” Auric replied. “I did my best shortly after he was hurt.”
“You did a good job,” Whencetos said, “unless you’re a trained professional. Well, it’s close, but I think I can help it the rest of the way.” He began to dig through his pockets until he found a glass container filled with clear liquid. “This will make the experience much less traumatic for you,” Whencetos said. He poured a bit of the fluid into a smaller container for Ziem to drink, and handed the cup to his patient. “Hold his nose,” the healer said to Thraun.
As Ziem raised the liquid to his mouth, Thraun reached out and pinched his nostrils together. The mixture was foul to Ziem, even through the dulling of the taste due to his pinched nose. Soon, the boy could not taste it. He couldn’t even feel it in his mouth. He seemed to be slipping down farther into the bed he sat on, and when he tried to look around, the walls were stretching and moving. Suddenly, he became aware of a feeling at his left arm, but it was little more than uncomfortable, and his head leaned back to rest against the bed frame. The feeling went away, but he was unable to move to see why it had stopped. Instead, he looked up at the ceiling, confused as to why the planks making up the second floor were shuddering and shivering.
“How long will he be like this?” Ziem distantly heard Auric ask.
“Not more than a few minutes. When he’s back to himself, feed him some more soup. It’s important that he drinks plenty over the next few hours.”
-
“Ziem!” Joan cried as she entered the room where her friend lay. “I heard you were here. They said you were injured. Are you alright?” Kandon was pushing his way in to see the state of the youngest member of their group, and Veese walked in behind him.
“He’s fine, now,” Auric said, sitting in a chair beside Ziem’s bed. “Just wanted to give us a little scare is all.”
“The healer has seen him?” Kandon asked.
“Quite a while ago,” Auric said. “Where are Dalk and Reon?”
“They wanted to help take away the dead,” Joan said. “I commend them, but I’ve seen enough death for one day. I can’t say how relieved I am that you’re alright,” she bent and kissed Ziem on the cheek, forcing his face to flush.
Auric noticed Veese trying to catch his eye and excused himself for the reason of overcrowding poor Ziem. He left the room with Veese following closely behind. “What is it?” he asked once the door was closed and the two could talk in private.
“Balanch was there,” Veese said. “I chased him away, but not before he made his presence known.”
“So Argain is behind this,” Auric said. “I’m sure we all had little doubt that would be the case. We must act quickly, then. Dalk and Reon are still moving bodies?”
“That was what they were doing when I last saw them,” Veese replied.
“With Ziem in no shape for combat, we’ll need them,” Auric muttered. “And Hazzul. Did you see him during the fighting?”
“I did not,” Veese said.
“I’ll go and search for them,” Auric said. “Prepare the others. When I get back, we must be swift.”
“Very nice,” the Evil God grinned as he lifted a mystical looking sword from the hands of his prisoner. It was a standard weapon, but along either side of the blade ran shining, silver, runic markings. “You have done well, my servants. Tell me your names.”
The two people kneeling before Argain exchanged disturbed looks. “I am Emule,” the man said quietly.
“Marima,” the woman answered.
“Very well,” Argain spoke. “Come, there is no reason for us to be enemies. We simply see two parts of the same story and do not fully understand one another.” He turned and walked to the corner of the dungeon-like room. With the twist of a knob, he thrust the door open and stood beside it, welcoming them through it.
The two prisoners rose nervously and made their way across the span of the stone floor. Emule clung to Marima for support, weak from his recent beating. Cautiously, they passed Argain into the next room where he followed, closing the door behind them.
The new area was vastly different from the rough, glum, and torch-lit walls of the prison they’d awoken to. Maroon wallpaper surrounded them, luxurious carpet was under their feet, fine candle-holders jutted out from the wooden support beams holding the ceiling up, and unusual paintings hung between them. Ignited candles like the captives had never seen rested in the fixtures and a strangely-shaped chandelier from above, giving the room a supernatural glow. Before the three individuals was a large dining table with piles of the best food money could buy resting invitingly on decorative trays and dishes. It looked like a feast fit for royalty, and Argain ushered them forward. He even pulled out their chairs for them before taking a seat at one end of the buffet.
“Eat. Do not be shy,” Argain said.
Marima and Emule eased into their respective places at the table and began shakily serving themselves. Slowly, they started to eat the food.
To Marima’s immediate left, Argain was also placing food on his plate. “So, you were born in Martin?” he asked, looking at Marima.
“Yes,” she mumbled, glancing quickly at their host.
“And you were not, I take it?” Argain inquired, this time looking to Emule for a response.
“I was born in Rathelstat but raised in Martin,” Emule muttered, clearly having a hard time lifting the food on his fork as pain from his injuries made itself known.
“I see. The color of your skin gives you away,” Argain spoke. “It seems most of the people living in this area are dark in skin, although there are exceptions.”
“Contrary,” Emule said. “Just Oluld is rich with the native Martins. Further into the realm, there is much more diversity.”
“Interesting,” Argain said. “I would have thought the opposite.”
“Long ago there was a breakout, of sorts,” Emule explained. “The only Martins able to remain in Martin could only persevere by the coast. They managed to defend only the docks from what is remembered as a sickness that transformed the citizens into monsters by night. Once the survivors who had fled began to return, many from Lon Gairdas accompanied them across the sea to assist in the rebuild of Martin. The culture of Lon Gairdas spread into Martin, diversifying the once-pure region.”
“Fascinating,” Argain said, taking a bite of meat pie. “And how did you become so versed in your country’s history?”
“I’m a student under direct tutelage of Martin’s great elder,” Emule said as Marima slid a large piece of meat onto her plate.
“Great elder?” Argain asked.
“She’s been alive for more years than any single person can recall. When the Old World started changing, she was still young. She remembers when the Harou were discovered.”
“The Harou?” Argain questioned.
“The snow people of the north,” Emule clarified. “The very distant north.”
For the first time, Argain looked confused, but it quickly faded. “Go on about this ‘great elder.’”
“She performs a wealth of services for the
local area,” Emule said, looking at Marima while she carved her large slab of meat with a serrated knife. “She advises the people of Martin when there’s an issue, counsels those in need of help, and has recently been gathering those showing affinities for the unnatural.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Emule started and began silently cursing himself. Beside him, Marima’s eyes were wide and she looked at him, horrified.
“Continue…” Argain said, suddenly very interested in what Emule had to say.
“She… brought us together,” Emule said carefully. “Trained us to control our abilities and emotions.”
“And where can I find this ‘great elder’ you speak so highly of?”
With a sudden motion, Marima lunged at the Evil God and plunged her knife deep into his shoulder. He spat and threw her off of him.
“You foul vermin!” he shouted, rising from his chair. “You exhibit the insolence to attack your own god! How dare you!” He was upon her, pulling her into the air by the collar of her shirt while she struggled to kick him away. “You will spend the rest of your pathetic life in agony! Once I am through with you, you will beg for death!”
Without even pulling the knife from his shoulder, Argain turned and dragged her back toward the dungeon-like room. Emule grabbed Marima’s arm and frantically tried to pull her away from their evil captor with what little strength he had left, but he was no match for the superhuman force of their furious host.
Through the doorway Argain stomped, his victim sliding across the ground behind him where she screamed and struggled helplessly. Emule was shaken free, and the door slammed shut behind Argain and Marima, leaving the man pounding at the other side in desperation. Within moments, the high ceiling of the room was filled with Marima’s screams, and Emule limped about, trying every doorknob fruitlessly. He grabbed one of the chairs at the dining table and threw it against the barrier between him and his friend, but to no avail. Having exhausted his options, he was left lying at the foot of the door, whimpering and hoping to hope that someone would come.