Savage

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Savage Page 10

by Robyn Wideman


  Nervously, Kyra climbed onto Bazur’s back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. “Drop me and I swear to the gods I will come back as a ghost and haunt you for the remainder of your days.”

  Squatting down, Bazur tested the weight. Kyra herself wasn’t heavy, but her weight along with the weapons, food, and water was more of a challenge. Launching himself upwards, Bazur grabbed the first little ledge and pulled himself up until his chest was about even with his hands. He then turned his left arm and rested all his weight on it. His face pressed against the cliff, Bazur couldn’t see the next crack in the rocks, but from memory he knew it was up and to the right. Sliding his right arm up, he found the tiny crack. It was only big enough to get two fingertips in, but that was all he needed. Jamming his fingers into the crack, Bazur shifted his weight until his fingers were holding them up. Lifting the left side of his body, he moved up until his left foot found the first ledge. Using his toes to balance himself, he straightened up and was now standing on the first ledge. The next move was tricky. There was another crack above them but it was a foot higher and almost two feet to the left. He needed to jump again, but this time from the tiny ledge he was tiptoeing on. “Hold tight,” he warned Kyra. Taking a deep breath, Bazur carefully bent at the knees and sprung up and over. His left hand grabbed at the crack, but as he pushed his fingers in, a piece of rock broke loose and his hand slipped out. Bazur stretched his right arm over and clenched his fingers like a giant claw. The tips found just enough traction to grab hold. Bazur, with Kyra on his back, swung back and forth like a pendulum as he waited for his momentum to stop. Once his body finally stopped swinging, he was able to pull himself up. Thankfully, the next two crevices were easily reached and they were soon on top of the Devil’s Arm.

  Despite being back on solid rock, Kyra didn’t let go of her grip around Bazur’s neck.

  “You can let go now.”

  “I’m trying. I think my hands are frozen in place. That is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t ever want to do anything like that again!”

  Bazur decided now wouldn’t be the best time to remind her that they still had to get down, and would be doing a similar climb before they could leave. Instead, he drew her attention to something else. “Well, we might as well enjoy the sunrise. You’ll likely not get as good a view of it without heading into the mountains.” The Devil’s Arm wasn’t a particularly high vantage point, but it was high enough that it looked over all the nearby surroundings, and offered an unobstructed view to the east and the rising sun.

  At first Kyra said nothing. They just sat there watching as the sun slowly started to climb over the horizon. “It’s beautiful. I haven’t seen a sunrise like this since I left Televia.”

  The comment surprised Bazur. Televia was an Azmarinian city, far to the north. It was well known to Bazur because it was one of the major trade cities of the north. When he’d lived in Lagvon, he’d been on several trips to the city. “A beautiful city. I found the sweet rolls very appetizing.”

  “Oh, you’ve been there? I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. Orc trade was a big part of Televia’s economy.” Kyra chuckled. “Sweet rolls. Of all the wonders and riches, the thing you remember is the sweet rolls.”

  Bazur shrugged his broad shoulders. There were plenty of impressive buildings in Televia, and its citizens all dressed to impress. Bold and brilliant colors, exotic jewels and gold jewelry adorned their persons. But riches didn’t do anything for Bazur. He couldn’t care less for money, other than its use as a trade tool. Food, on the other hand, was entirely different. Food was something needed for survival, but a good meal could serve a purpose beyond substance for the purpose of survival. A good meal set a man’s senses on fire and creating such a meal was an art form that he admired over all others. The sweet rolls were not the only delicacy that the rich city of Televia offered, but it was one that he’d not found a match for in any other city. That was worth remembering. “Goat’s milk, honey, and ground vota flour, that is the secret to Televian sweet rolls.”

  “The sweet rolls were excellent, but if you are going to talk about the best dishes Televia had to offer, you must mention the Belugosi wine and the aged lamb loin with cream sauce. Those are what I miss most of Televian food, the wine and the lamb,” said Kyra.

  “How does a Televian noble end up a thief in Draisha?” asked Bazur. He knew it was going to be a sad story but he wanted to hear it, to understand her better.

  “Who says I was a noble?”

  “You did, when you said you miss Belugosi wine. Even in a rich city like Televia, there are only so many who could afford such an expensive treat. That you’ve had it more than once means your family was rich or you traveled in circles where such riches were offered to their guests. You also have the posture and grace of a noble. I suspect you took dancing lessons as a child.”

  Kyra sat quietly watching the sunrise. Finally, she turned and looked at him. “I wasn’t really a noble. My family was well off. My father was a city official, one high enough up in the food chain that nobles would invite our family to their gatherings and parties for the opportunity to bend his ear and offer bribes. We couldn’t afford Belugosi wine at home, but my mother would drink it at all the parties, pretending it was her normal drink at home. I learned very early how to fake being rich. I guess that is how I got my start in forgery. Much of my life was fake, designed to look like something we really weren’t. When I turned seventeen, my father started arranging suitors for my marriage. He expected me to marry strategically so as to help further his career. I wasn’t entirely against the idea. My whole life had been training to be a good Televian wife. The dancing lessons, the art lessons, the writing lessons, everything my parents put me into was for one purpose: to raise my value to my future husband. So when my parents suggested I go and meet with Lord Petra Zargo, I agreed. He was a handsome young lord, and my parents were thrilled that he was considering me. They hinted I should do whatever it took to make him want me as a bride. Petra took me riding out into the country. He was pleasant enough until we stopped for a picnic lunch. There he started getting aggressive. I tried to stop him, but he was too strong. He took my virginity and then laughed at me. “Sorry, I can only marry a virgin. It is the law. However, I have a place for you among my concubines. Now that you are a ruined woman, no noble will marry you.” I was so hurt and angry. He’d used me and was destroying my life simply because he could. My parents had practically offered me up on a silver platter, and he treated me like a whore or worse. Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed his dagger from him and stabbed it into his belly. I knew as soon as I did it that I could never go home again. It didn’t matter that he’d raped me. He was a noble and they’d hang me. My father would lose his position; my parents would hate me. I bottled up all my anger and hurt and all that was left was the cold realization I needed to get out of Televia as soon as possible. I took what Petra had on him, a few gold coins, his jeweled dagger, and a gold necklace. I took his horse and immediately started riding south. I sold the horse and his bobbles in Carmore. Luckily, they were worth enough to buy me plenty of time, but I knew that wasn’t far enough. I needed to get as far away from Televia as possible.”

  As he had suspected, it was a sad story. One that hurt his heart to think of someone so young and innocent being so cruelly used. Her pain, of losing her family and her old life was one he could relate to. Your entire life changing in one moment, and having to go out into the world and starting anew was something he understood intimately. “Did you ever get a chance to speak to your family again?”

  “No. A few years ago I spoke with a man from Televia that knew the story. I got him drunk and pried him for details. It was weeks before Petra’s body was found. No one went looking for days, and by the time they found his body there was little evidence of what had happened. The man said the rumor was one of Petra’s enemies finally got him, and I was taken as a prize. The man knew who my father was and said he is still in his ol
d position, so I can’t reach out to them. If anyone from Televia suspected that I was Petra’s murderer, my family would suffer. It’s better this way. They suffer not knowing, but that is the price they pay for choosing to trade me like a good to that beast.”

  Despite her hard tone, Bazur could tell Kyra was holding back emotions, whether at the physical or emotional pain caused by the attack of brutality by Lord Petra Zargo, or at her parents for putting her in that situation. Perhaps her pain stemmed from the loss of connection to her family and friends. That was something he took a long time to get over, and still he had moments where he’d think of what he’d lost, but in order to survive, he’d put that pain behind him. He found peace in the solitude of the badlands, where his main concerns were survival and exploring his culinary skills. Until now that had been enough, but Kyra was reawakening desires he had long suppressed. Bazur wondered about Kyra’s desires. He wondered how many men had shared Kyra’s bed? He didn’t care about the number; he was just jealous they’d been so lucky. She was a notorious flirt and hadn’t shied away during the sexual activities in the brothel. However, he sensed Kyra simply used her sexuality as a tool and that whatever number of lovers she had was meaningless as none would’ve gotten to bed the real Kyra, none had gained her trust. Did he have her trust? She certainly had just displayed a level of trust telling him her secret past, and she’d trusted him to respect her wishes every night when she cuddled up to him. That seemed more significant now that he knew her history. It was something to think about. Perhaps some of his judgements of Kyra’s motivations had been too quick. Sometimes it was hard to read what was going on behind those pretty eyes.

  “You are awfully quiet. Does my history bother you?”

  “No,” replied Bazur. “Not at all. You were a child put into a terrible ordeal and you did what you had to do. That is not something to be ashamed of. I’m not some noble who believes your purity is damaged by not waiting for marriage, consensual or otherwise. I was raised as an orc. Orc women are not forced into marriage. They choose their man with their hearts. In orc society, strength, wealth, and power are not a priority. Orc women are warriors themselves, they don’t need protection or someone to hunt for them. Orc women choose a companion that fills their heart with joy. I’ve seen male orcs reciting poetry, picking flowers and writing love letters. Orc women will take a man for a lover to test him, see if he makes the effort necessary to become a life partner.”

  “What about women who kill their lovers?” asked Kyra softly.

  Bazur shook his head. No, she should never regret that decision. It had been Petra’s evil intentions that caused the problem not her reaction. “That man was not a lover. He was an animal, taking what he wanted and discarding you after. If it had been an orc woman in that situation, she would’ve cut his head off and brought it back to town to show other men what happens when she is disrespected.” Bazur paused for a moment. He worried he lacked the words to properly describe his empathy for her. “I realize that there are men out there that would think less of you knowing your story, but be clear, I’m not one of them. Nothing you’ve said today makes me think less of you. Far from it. I admire you more knowing the strength it took to make the decisions you made. It took guts to attack the man who assaulted you. It took even more guts to walk away from your family and friends and start fresh. You are a survivor, Kyra. I respect that.”

  Kyra smiled softly with moisture in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  The conversation died as they struggled with their own thoughts and watched the valley below for signs of the enemy. Mauri and his men would be leaving Pera soon, deviating north towards Westmere. If they didn’t already know, the unknown enemy now would know the intended route of Mauri Planche and would start planning their attack. Bazur couldn’t know for sure, but he suspected the bandits would arrive within a few hours. Or at the very least a scouting party would arrive to setup an ambush.

  As they sat on top of the Devil’s Arm waiting, Bazur started to question his own logic. Kyra was the brains of the operation, he was supposed to be the muscle, but now she had trusted him to figure out where the attack would come from so they could watch and finally learn something about who was behind the attacks. However, if he was wrong, they’d be sitting for hours waiting for nothing. What if they knew about the route and attacked between Pera and Westmere? Or if they intended to wait until Mauri crossed into Oclesh lands? Had he made a colossal mistake by committing them to their perch atop the Devil’s Arm? The vantage point was excellent, yet was exposed and difficult to retreat from if they were seen. Perhaps he needed to start thinking about a secondary plan. It wasn’t wise to underestimate an opponent, especially one as ruthless and dangerous as the one they faced. Bazur started thinking about all the things that could go wrong and how to react. He needed to be prepared for the worse. Kyra was trusting him with her life, he wouldn’t let her down.

  The sun was well past its apex when they finally saw someone. A single rider coming from Pera to the watering hole at Westmere.

  “Just a random traveler?” asked Kyra.

  “It could be, but I doubt it. Let’s see what he does next.”

  The rider made his way to the watering hole. After filling his canteens and letting his horse drink, the rider started looking around. He was looking for tracks. Bazur had wiped out their own tracks, those close to the watering hole, and the moist ground that easily left prints, so no one would be able to tell that they’d recently visited the watering hole. The stranger, if he was a good tracker would know someone had recently traveled the route, but would not be able to follow their tracks. The path they’d taken between the watering hole and Devil’s Arm was hard and rocky, no way to track them to their current position. After a brief look around, the stranger started wiping away his own tracks. Bazur smiled to himself. The man was experienced and being careful. This wasn’t any ordinary traveler.

  The stranger started walking his horse away from the watering hole. From Westmere, there were two basic routes one could go. North, venturing towards the cities of Amradin or the Orc province of Irri, or east towards the Oclesh lands. As Bazur expected, the stranger was walking east, and not in a direct line like he was headed to any one destination. No, the man was zigzagging and occasionally stopping and turning to check his surroundings. For an hour, the man worked his way east getting closer and closer to their location.

  When the man was close enough to see his face clearly, Kyra swore. “Baruva sack licker. That is Jasper Vargas.”

  Bazur waved his hand at Kyra, indicating she needed to keep her voice down. “Who is Jasper Vargas?” he looked closer at the man as he waited for her to explain. He was about average height, narrow hips and wide shoulders with dark hair and an upright stance that indicated a potential military background.

  “A former general in the royal guard. He was dismissed for repeated acts of brutality. He’s smart, vicious, and has a grudge against the prince.”

  Suddenly Bazur understood. This wasn’t a scout sent ahead to pick an ambush location, this was the man who’d been organizing the attacks. Finally, they had a name and a face to attach to the long list of attacks: Jasper Vargas. Here was a golden opportunity to end the attacks on the prince. All Bazur had to do was slip down the Devil’s Arm unseen and kill Vargas.

  Sensing Bazur’s thoughts, Kyra put an arm on Bazur’s shoulder. “We can’t kill him yet. Vargas may be the brains behinds the attacks, but he is not the money. Someone else is paying Vargas. Our job is to find out who is paying Vargas.”

  He wanted to disagree. His gut instincts told him that they might not get a better chance to kill Vargas. But logically he knew she was right, if he did kill Vargas, they would only slow the attacks not stop them. He must wait. Bazur gave a low growl. Waiting when the enemy was so near was not something he liked doing.

  It was a good thing that Kyra had advised against an attack. Only a few minutes passed before a large number of riders galloped up to Vargas. His bandits had arrive
d. Bazur watched as Vargas pointed to various landmarks around him. From their position atop the Devil’s Arm, they couldn’t hear what General Vargas was telling his men, but his pointing made it clear he was organizing an ambush. This was the spot where Vargas would attack Mauri Planche and his mercenaries. It wasn’t the spot Bazur would’ve picked. He would’ve gone farther away from the watering hole, closer to the border; however, he could see the logic behind General Vargas’s choice. The ground he’d chosen was surrounded by box canyons on three sides, and each canyon could hold a small army of riders that wouldn’t be visible from the trail until it was too late. The second factor that made the ambush site viable was its proximity to the watering hole. Mauri and his men would arrive at the watering hole late this afternoon. They’d spend the night at the watering hole and leave at first light. They would barely be awake, and all would have had less than a full night’s sleep as all of Mauri’s mercenaries would be taking a night guard shift protecting the camp. A tired group of men would not be at their most alert and if Mauri and his mercenaries made the mistake of trying to fight instead of fleeing, General Vargas’s men would box them in and let their archers pick them off one at a time.

  “They are leaving?” said Kyra. The confusion could be heard in her soft voice.

  “They’ll camp further east, off the trail. Tonight, under the cover of darkness they will return.”

  “Why don’t they just stay here? They would be hidden in the canyons easily enough.”

  “Possibly, but if Mauri has an advance scout moving ahead of his caravan there is a chance the scout would check the canyons today. This location is far enough away from Westmere that any patrols Mauri puts around his night camp won’t notice the movement. It is a prudent plan. They don’t have many more men than Mauri, so they need every advantage they can get. This ambush takes advantage of the natural terrain and the time of day, but for it to be successful, they must have the element of surprise. They cannot risk being seen in the canyons by a scout. Tomorrow, if a scout checked the canyons, they could kill him and still launch the attack before anyone realized the scout wasn’t coming back. But a dead scout today would warn Mauri and possibly make him change routes.”

 

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