Most soldiers learn a trick—a terrible robotic trick, but a trick nonetheless. We can push our feelings to a point in our minds where they no longer affect us. Emotion stops, and we become cold and calculated. It's like pausing your humanity, so you can be a human after you survive. I had done it before by instinct, and I did it again.
I laid my fallen comrade on the ground gently and took off toward the alley the shadowy figure had traveled.
I got to the corner, paused, and listened. After hearing nothing, I slowly pied it.
A dark figure stood in the center, its face, and body barely visible in the shadow of the alley.
Its voice was hollow and deep. I could hear the hatred in its words, "You might be protected, but your friends are not. Blood for blood, two for one. One more will die before the scales are balanced."
I pulled my M4 up, but before I could fire, the shadow disappeared. Just to give you a heads up too, I can reflex fire in less than half a second.
"Fuuuuuuck!" I screamed.
I was miles away from the Knight's Lance, with only a general idea of how to get back.
"One bite at a time." It was a mantra I repeated whenever a task seemed overwhelming. How do you eat an elephant?
I commandeered a cart and a miniature beast of burden from a nearby residence. I left a note for them, but it was in English. Regardless I intended to pay them back.
I respectfully closed Snake Stomper's eyes and hoisted him into the cart. He weighed a lot, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I grabbed the cask he had been working on and took a long drink in his honor. I barely knew him, but I could tell we would have been friends.
There was no room for me to ride in the cart, and I was exhausted. So I took off my kit and gently placed it in the back near my dead comrade.
The brown donkey, who I named Donkey, knew his business and pulled the cart in the direction I indicated with no complaint.
Twelve hours later, and with the help of at least four separate strangers, and I was back at the doorstep to the Knight's Lance.
I was in full autopilot, both emotionally and physically drained—one foot in front of the next.
Dykon had a guard looking for me, who saw me approach. A few moments after arriving, the council rushed out.
"What has transpired?" Dykon asked after seeing the corpse.
Dykon was too classy to ask about the mission, so I figured I would tell them everything, but first, I needed to know something. "Where is Pretinia?"
"She still sleeps," Dykon responded.
I pushed past them all and rushed upstairs to my room.
What I saw still haunts me to this day.
The poor innocent girl had been turned into something from a nightmare. Her arms hung from the ceiling, cleanly severed; her leg stood straight up on the floor as if it was standing naturally. Her head had a disgusting joker like grin carved into it. Her torso had been defiled and propped up on a bedpost like a puppet. A large symbol like an upside-down pie had been carved into her chest.
I nearly vomited.
Chapter 8
Dykon gave me a tonic that put me into a deep sleepless state. I had gone into full emotional breakdown after I saw that poor little girl's body.
I slept for a full two days before finally awakening. I was stark naked and covered in some sort of sticky film around my waist.
Standing up and looking at the sheets, I realized it was piss.
I took inventory of the room, my head still a little cloudy.
My M4 was in the corner, with my ruck, ACH, plate carrier, and clothes. The clothes hanging over a bar and looked freshly clean. A basin of water with some sort of flower petals floating on top was on the floor in front of a small mirror.
I examined myself.
My brown eyes were tired, and I had a few days worth of stubble on my chin.
The room I occupied was different than the previous one, thank God. The bed was still a decent thing with a straw mattress covered in canvas held up by a net. Believe it or not, those mattresses are way comfier than an army cot.
I dressed, slung my M4, checked the chamber, and walked out of the room.
Two guards looked at me as I walked out, both dwarves, and both wore serious expressions. They had steel axes with bronze inlays of a cross between a heart and diamond on the flats. They wore the same symbol on their shirts.
"The warrior awakes," the one on the right noted.
"Everything good?" I had no idea who they were, but they were obviously some sort of protection for me, and they didn't appear to be aggressive.
"Best to talk to Dykon," the one on the left said.
They seemed like the Hulk smash type, versus the witty repertoire of Doctor Strange.
I was on the balcony of the Knight's Lance, which overlooked the common area. The council was still downstairs, but they were not in a meeting. There were about twenty more dwarven guards, all bearing the same sigil as the pair by my door.
The inn had taken on the appearance of a TOC, or Tactical Operations Center.
Dykon walked into the room with a plate of fruit and cheeses.
I walked right down the stairs behind him and helped myself.
"Thank Donker and Brykon; you have awakened."
Shoving food in my mouth, and smiling, I said, "Not sure what you gave me, but that shit was good."
"I feared I had dosed you incorrectly."
I shrugged and looked around for a mug.
"Sit down," he said, motioning to the table, "I will have whatever you need to be brought to you."
I didn't argue. I sat at the empty bench away from all the people working on their various plans and machinations. I looked down at my hands and noticed a lot of dirt and crap under my fingernails. There was blood caked too.
I pulled my magazine out, took out a single round, and proceeded to clean myself. A flood of memories came back to me. Pretinia and Snake Stomper were at the forefront.
A mug was set in front of me by a very feminine hand with purple dots on the backs of her fingers, like little henna tattoos.
I followed the trail of ink up the arm to see a smoking hot face smiling back at me. She had oval lavender eyes, bright blonde hair, and a too-perfect face.
My eyes dilated as did some blood vessels in other parts of my body.
Look, I was grieving over the loss of my two friends/acquaintances; I wasn’t dead.
"Thank you."
"Absolutely anything for the slayer of the Archmage." Her voice did not match her form. It was grating like she had smoked too many cigarettes, like that one chick who rode wrecking balls naked.
"Awesome." Yeah, my response left a little to be desired, but she was the first woman I saw that wasn't hideous in a long while.
"Anything," she emphasized, brushing my arm with her hand as she walked away.
I turned to watch her go and was very pleased with the view.
Once she was back in the kitchen, I turned back around to nurse my beer and was shocked to see Dykon sitting in front of me, two plates on the table.
"I see you have met my niece, Sheta."
"That's your niece?" My voice was tinged with a hint of guilt.
"Yes. Now that the Archmage is gone, I do not have to worry about hiding her."
"Hiding her?"
"The Archmage's retinue were known to enslave women, particularly elves, for their harems."
"That's just fucked up."
He nodded. "It was difficult to hide her. Like many young, she is very strong-willed."
She did look young to me, although with elves, it's hard to tell. She could be the human equivalent of sixteen or sixty, and I wouldn't know the difference.
"How old is she?"
"Just over two-hundred."
"Wow."
"Yes, still just a young girl."
"Two-hundred is young?"
"For an elf? Yes, very."
"Like how old is that in human years? You know the equivalent of a human?"
I cocked my head. "I'm twenty-four. Fifty is old."
Dykon pondered that for a moment. "Time is different where you come from. Here you are around eighty, I'd guess."
Later I figured out that years in Teletha were about one-hundred days, give or take.
"Pray, tell me of the events that happened."
I was expecting the question. I had given debriefs of bad events before, and it never gets easy. You have to just stick to the facts and take out all emotions. So I recounted the moment Snake Stomper was murdered.
"A powerful dweamor, placed by Sheyu in the event of his death. We should have accounted for such a thing."
"How do you know it was Sheyu?"
"His sigil was present."
Dykon was referring to the symbol I saw on Pretinia's brutalized corpse.
"Why didn't it go after me?"
"Spells are strange and chaotic things. They follow rules we do not understand. Like the gods themselves, their rules are different from ours."
"That's not much of an answer."
"My conjecture is because you were not born of this world; you cannot be killed by the magic of this world. It is a guess, though."
I let the conversation stop at that. I didn't want to think about Snake Stomper or the massacre I witnessed when I returned.
Dykon and I ate our breakfast in peace. Once the plates were cleared, we were joined by two others, a dwarf and a human.
"This is Martelias," Dykon said, gesturing to the human, "and Pagtooth," he pointed to the dwarf.
Martelias was an older human with watery brown eyes capped with grey bushy brows, a bulbous nose, and blatantly fake offwhite teeth. A scraggly beard hung down to his mid-stomach. His breath smelled of infection. "We are the elders, appointed by Donker and Brykon." His voice, while old, was powerful.
"We need your support." The dwarf reminded me a little of Snake Stomper, a large beard, green eyes, and a cocky voice.
"My support?"
Dykon nodded and offered, "We need a figurehead."
"What do you mean?"
Martelias clasped his hands and placed them on the table. "Son, we need you to be the head of our new empire."
I took a swig of my beer in order to buy myself some time. "Shouldn't you like, win the rebellion or revolution, or whatever you're calling it first?"
All three smiled giant shit-eating grins.
Dykon spoke through a broad smile, "The revolution, as you call it, is complete."
"It's been like two days." I looked around for a way to refill my beer.
Hot Elf Chick gracefully walked forward and topped me off. She subtly winked as she did so.
"You would need a wife too," Pagtooth mentioned as casually as possible.
Something clicked in me, and I realized I was being played.
"Not a fucking chance." Not a little bit of anger was in my voice.
"Foolish dwarf!" Martelias glared at Pagtooth.
Pagtooth just sat in silence, his and Martelias's grins had vanished.
"I told you," Dykon said to the table, a smirk on his face.
"Gentlemen, I'm not someone you can manipulate. I'm not some puppet, and I am not a fucking emperor." I was angry. I was emotionally drained, and I was still trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. I was also trying to figure out if I had made a mistake by killing the two assholes.
"What are you then, son?" Martelias asked.
"An assassin apparently."
Dykon shook his head. "Pantodynamos himself has chosen you. Assassin might be a mantle you wear now, but it can be removed and replaced as easily as a cloak. You are so much more. You are an emperor. Perhaps not now, but I can see it in you, you will be great."
I was still tired, and the alcohol was starting to take its toll as I was dehydrated. "A better man would have saved Snake Stomper."
Pagtooth placed his left pointer and middle finger directly to his forehead and bowed.
After what seemed to be an appropriate amount of time, Dykon looked to his left and right and signaled to his compatriots. They nodded in return.
"Please follow me," Dykon said as he stood.
I did so.
We were immediately flanked by four dwarves, all with axes.
The three led me to the stables that were behind the Knight's Lance.
The stables smelled like every other stable I had been to. The sweet smell of the various grasses calmed me and reminded me of my aunt's house in Cusseta.
The trio guided me to the largest stable at the very end.
Martelias smiled and gestured to the biggest horse I had ever seen. "This is now yours."
"Holy shit!" I was amazed. You ever see one of those Budweiser horses? The horse in that stable could put them to shame. The horse was my height at its shoulders. It was dark brown with white hooves, a white tail, and a small strip of white on his nose.
"He wandered into my stockyard last night." Martelias opened the latch and walked into the pen.
Not waiting for an invitation, I followed Martelias.
The gargantuan horse didn't mind as I approached his flank. He looked back at me, his ears forward. He made a small snort.
"I've never seen such a calm animal," Dykon noted.
"No brands, no shoes, came straight from the wilds," said as he reached into a pouch, produced a small apple, and handed it to me.
The horse perked up and sniffed at my hand. My heart melted a little. I placed my palm flat and handed over the equine delicacy.
The horse gingerly retrieved his snack, and I took the opportunity to pet the side of his face.
"I daresay, he may be part Rodadrian," Dykon noted.
"Extinct, I thought," Pagtooth said.
"One has not been seen in ten thousand years," Dykon said, entering the pen.
"Wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen in the last fiveday," Pagtooth said.
"He's beautiful." I walked around the powerful animal, careful to keep a hand on his flank.
"He needs a name," Dykon said.
My first instinct was Mister Ed, but that was mainly because it was the only horse name I could remember. A few other names popped into my mind, but I dismissed them as bad fits. After running through a mental list, I said, "Rover."
"A grand name," they all said in some sort of ritual response.
Dykon walked to Rover's head and put both of his hands on either side of his nose. He whispered something in a language I couldn't understand.
"What did you say?" I asked.
"He will always have shelter, food, and good company here."
I smiled.
"It is the same promise I extend to you."
I closed my eyes, nodded, and replied, "Thank you."
Martelias and Dykon looked at Pagtooth.
"My men are making you a saddle, and anything else you need."
"Thank you," I replied. "Really, thank you, but I can't be your emperor." How could I lead an empire, when I couldn’t even watch over a child?
The three all look slightly insulted, before Dykon spoke up, "These are not gifts with attachment. They are gifts and rewards for service done."
Martelias looked me straight in the eyes and said, "In less than three days, you have killed the three worst people in the city. You have stopped anarchy and chaos."
Dykon joined his comrade. "Even now, the Temple Guard is maintaining order. Teletha is now a free city, thanks to you. Donker and Brykon have usurped The Dominator."
"None of us, ever believed we would see this day come in Teletha. Our fathers planted the seeds of freedom, believing the tree would sprout no earlier than five generations. We had plans, resources, and people all ready to start a rebellion when the time was right," Pagtooth said.
"And then the gods delivered you to us. The savior and the warrior," Dykon added.
I don't like flattery, and I felt more than a little embarrassed.
"You are trul
y a great hero," Martelias said.
My response was a simply elegant statement ripped from one of Earth's greatest philosophers. "Shutup baby, I know it."
Chapter 9
It had been six months since that first fiveday, and I had fallen into the profession of doing good by killing bad. I became a bounty hunter. I made Dykon and friends promise not to reveal who I was or where I came from.
Of course, rumor still persisted, and many had heard legends of my M4, but in a city of more than a million souls and no social media, rumors about me morphed into odd amalgamations that no longer resembled a grunt from Earth.
My favorite rumor, and one that I proudly help spread, was that I was a human taller than orak, who wore a black cape and black armor. I only attacked at night, and I called myself batman.
After six months, and very little real evidence of my existence among humans, most people considered me to be nothing more than a bullshit phantom.
The subs were a different story, though. The dwarves, elves, and gnomes all considered me a hero, and every subdistrict I walked through, I found myself with a full tankard, plate, and lap.
All in all, life was pretty damn good, even if I hadn't heard decent music in half an Earth year.
I found myself on the trail of a nasty orak who had been raiding local farming communities. The council of seven, three of which I knew personally, had asked me to specifically see the menace be dealt with. Since I owed Dykon a favor, I agreed. Getting paid for the job was a nice incentive too.
The tavern or inn, or whatever the hell you call it, was the only public building in the small village of Brown Creek. A name, I might add, that was as unimaginative as the people of the hamlet. One hundred families resided in and around Brown Creek, and it was unfortunately where my trail had led me.
I hitched my horse, Rover, to the horizontal post made for such an occurrence and stepped down into the muck, that I was pretty sure consisted of equal parts dirt, horse piss and feces, and human excrement.
I left my brain bucket on Rover's flank but took my M4 this time. I wasn't sure what I was going to find in the inn/tavern/government building, but I wasn't about to leave her, my M4, out on the horse.
Of Gods & Grunts Page 6