by Matt Russell
“I’m outside,” he said in a more subdued snarl.
Iona blinked, taking in the dull, early morning light through the cracks in the thatched roof above her head. Then she bounced off the cot, letting her feet slap down on the still morning-wet dirt that was the floor of her home. She could hear Gorlick outside. He was huffing in his thick, wet way of breathing, and there was a scraping sound of something being dragged through the soil and plants outside.
Iona felt a hot tingle of nerves in her stomach. He had killed something. It might be a bear, or a deer, or a tradesman who had been unlucky enough to wander too close.
"Please don't let it be human," she said in the softest whisper she could manage.
"WHAT?" Gorlick’s voice snarled through the hovel's wall of hay and hardened mud.
"Nothing!" Iona shouted. She dashed out of her tiny quarters and into the main room of the house, her legs dancing around the enormous table upon which Gorlick did most of his skinning. She cast a quick look at her kitchen—the cleanest section of the home by far—and took a quick mental note of how much wood there was on hand for the stove. Not enough—not if he is bringing home something large.
Iona ran out to the doorway and caught sight of the enormous black dog, and it caught sight of her in turn and bared its teeth, letting out a dangerous growl. Why did it still hate her? The beast took a step forward, continuing to snarl, causing her to cringe in the doorway. Boar, as Gorlick had named the creature for its strangely flat snout, was less like a dog and more like a horse, with the long, powerful legs and a broad back. She had come to suspect that Gorlick had produced Boar by breeding a normal dog with some supernatural beast to produce a hulking half-breed, perhaps so that he could have something like himself.
"DOWN!" Gorlick snapped, and the tremendous hound lowered the back half of his body to the ground. The creature continued to glare at Iona with its yellow eyes, lips curled back.
Knowing this was the best she could expect from the beast, Iona turned to Gorlick. Of all things, he had a dead grizzly bear, which he was holding by the back of the neck as he dragged its limp form along. Iona had grown so used to Gorlick's hulking form over her many months with him that she seldom stopped to consider it, but for a brief second, she gaped at how much larger he was than the bear, and it made her cringe inside.
"He was huntin’ my deer," Gorlick muttered as he shoved the animals limp form down onto the ground. "I guess you get the new blanket you 'been wantin’."
"Y-yes, thank you, master," Iona said, gazing at the corpse. She guessed he would take several days to skin it, and while he did the body would sit in the house. There would be dozens of flies, and... the smell... Such things never bothered Gorlick. He had not even had an oven when she first came to live with him and was entirely comfortable eating raw meat.
"Were you out all night?" Iona asked.
"Yeah," he grunted. "Fry me some eggs. I want... eight. Put some salt on ‘em, eh?”
“Of course, sir,” she said with a nod.
“Good girl,” he muttered, and his bulbous, tattooed features relaxed. It was strange to Iona that she did not fear Gorlick more. He could crush her skull in one hand, but he had never once hurt her. In that respect at least, the half-ogre was a kinder master than Lady Sondal had been. There was always the understanding between them though that if she ever tried to run, he would take a trip south, and Hervin and Livia would die, so Iona had forced herself to make peace with staying, and life was tolerable.
She watched her master pick the bear’s carcass back up as if it weighed no more than a pillow and stroll back to the shack with his dog trotting behind. When they were gone, she turned and headed around to the back of the house. Morning sunlight glinted off the metallic sections of the chicken coop that faced the east. Gorlick had built the thing tying sticks together with pieces of armor he had... acquired from armed men who had been unfortunate enough to come upon him in the forest. Boar was excellent at keeping forest predators away from the chickens, but the armor plating kept him away from them at night.
"Good morning," Iona said, smiling down at her feathered little friends. There were nine birds, and they all scurried up as the coup door opened. She opened the wooden crate nearby and grabbed a handful of dried corn before letting the chickens out. She liked to wake them with a treat. It built trust.
After the chickens went to eating, Iona crawled inside the coup and gathered up eight eggs, pulling them into her apron, and then crawled back out on knees and one hand. Rising with the bounty, she moved to her garden, which was a sizable square of fenced earth behind the house. Iona was glad she had finally convinced Gorlick to make it for her. It had not taken him long. He had built the fence by shoving thick tree limbs into the ground and then tilled the earth in a few minutes by merely digging his enormous hands in and dragging them along.
She untied the uneven gate of tied sticks and stepped inside. Her potatoes were coming in! That was exciting. Between the chard, tomatoes, carrots, and all the mustard and dill that were so abundant in the forest, Iona was adding more and more variety to the food she and Gorlick ate. He would pretend he did not care of course, but she knew he did. He had built the garden after all, and she had caught him secretly inspecting the plants more than once.
Iona gathered up a few bits of chard and tomato into her apron and then stepped back out of the garden. She was careful to tie the door behind her, knowing that Boar would trounce everything if given a chance. Ingredients in hand, she walked back toward the house to perform one of her favorite actions in the world: cooking. It was good to be able to stay in practice. She wanted to keep her skills up for the day when she might... return to Hervin and Livia. Iona swallowed, shaking off a swell of emotion. Gorlick did not like it when she cried.
Straightening, Iona walked to the front of the house, but when she did, she saw something that caused her entire soul to shiver in fear. It was him!
The young sorcerer with the missing fingers was riding slowly toward her on a black horse. When he saw her, his cruel face twisted into a smile. Iona felt her heart flutter in her chest, and she took several unconscious steps backward, and her hand lost its grip on her apron, letting all her ingredients spill out onto the ground Nothing in the world frightened her more than this young man. His name started to flash through her mind but then vanished. She thought she had learned it—more than once—by accident, but he had ripped it from her memory each time, leaving a dull, stinging haze in its stead. She could always recall the pain though. This young man had performed dozens of ‘experiments,’ as he called them, on her. He had drawn her blood, pierced into the deepest recesses of her consciousness, and cast strange spells that burned and tingled wildly, all in an attempt to draw ‘it’ out, whatever ‘it’ was. Every one of those experiments had ended in a fit of rage from the young sorcerer. Iona had dull, sometimes nonsensical memories of all of it. More than once, he had demanded she admit she was the Messiah and was hiding it from him. He was insane...
"Hello, Iona," the young man said.
"H-hello," she managed to squeak. She had started to tremble.
Boar came padding out of the shack and let loose a growl at the visitor, arching his back.
"Shut your ugly face!" the sorcerer snapped, and he waved a black-gloved hand in the dog's direction, hissing some inscrutable words. The air in front of Boar's snout suddenly burst into a puff of orange fire, and the hound let out a terrified yelp and leaped back. This drew a smirk from the young man. He dismounted his horse and chuckled at the now very skittish looking beast: "You've got to be about the most hideous animal in the world." His gaze returned to Iona. "How are you being treated?"
"She's being treated fine," Gorlick's voice snapped from out of the shack. He stepped out of the doorway, an uncharacteristically wary look on his tattooed face.
"Is she?" the sorcerer said, staring hard back at the hulking creature. "Your grotesque mutt has gotten even bigger since last I came. I
'm not sure I trust it around my prize."
"Boar doesn't kill anything I don't tell him to," Gorlick snapped.
"Hmm," the young man grunted. "We shall have to talk about this later."
"You brought supplies?" Gorlick said, and his bulbous eyes scanned the young man and his horse, which only had a few small saddle bags attached.
"Do I look like a delivery boy? Dunlin will be by soon, like always."
Dunlin was another of the young sorcerer's subordinates, a large man who brought a cart full of supplies every other week or so. He had tattoos like her master, though they were not nearly so thick. Iona disliked the way Dunlin leered at her when he was there, but she knew the man was utterly terrified of Gorlick, so she made sure never to stray too far from her master when he was near.
"Why are you here then?" Gorlick said. There always seemed to be an underlying tension between these two, yet at the same time, the young man seemed to be her master’s only friend.
"I felt the need to make sure the two of you were well," the sorcerer said. A smirk came across his pale face as he added: "We're about to make our move. In two days, my brother falls."
"I've heard that before," Gorlick said with a low sigh.
"This time, things are different. He can't beat what we have planned. I don’t even think my father could."
"Maybe, but Cassian's a dangerous little bastard. Make sure you don't underestimate 'im like last time."
Cassian? Iona blinked. Wasn't that the name of the Starborn Livia had been so enamored with? As this thought passed through her mind, the sorcerer turned and glared at her, and she felt a sudden searing pain in the front of her head.
"Hahhh!" she squealed as whatever had just been passing through her mind vanished. Iona blinked several times after it was over and involuntary tears rolled from her eyes. She sniffled, looking at him, begging with her eyes: no more.
"Relax," he said with a sigh, "the less you understand, the less danger you’re in."
"Yes, sir," she whimpered.
The young man turned back to Gorlick. "And you, watch your mouth."
"Mhh," Gorlick grunted, narrowing his eyes.
The sorcerer stared at him for a moment, then said: "No one's come around looking for her?"
"Ain't seen anyone in months except that little piss-weasel, Dunlin," Gorlick said. "If I had, I would'a taken care of 'em."
The young man frowned. "Don’t grow overly confident."
This seemed to irritate Gorlick, for his lips curled back a little as he replied: “You doubting me?"
“No,” the sorcerer said quickly. He seemed to be at least somewhat afraid of Gorlick. “Gods know you could probably kill an entire platoon of Onkai with your bare hands, but all the brute power in the world does nothing to pierce elven enchantments, nor can it fool the eyes of the Norn. Enemies may come here that you cannot even perceive."
"We have to worry about things like that now?" Gorlick growled.
"We're not exactly playing for low stakes, are we?" The sorcerer’s dark eyes moved to Iona, and he made a sharp gesture at her, which made her flinch. No magic leaped from his hand, but instead, he spoke: "You know what I think she is, Gorlick. I believe it more every day."
"Shouldn't you be kneeling then?" the half-ogre muttered, rolling his enormous eyes.
"Why the hell would I do that?" he said, casting Iona a sneering look. "I'm an abomination, remember?" She knew the sorcerer hated her, but the reason was confusing – it was as if she represented something for him.
“Hey!” Gorlick shouted, “Calm the hell down!”
Iona's heart was racing at terror-stricken speed. She squeaked: "I—I don't—whatever you think I am—"
"Shhh," the sorcerer whispered, and he held up two gloved fingers and touched them gently to the tip of her forehead. Her fear evaporated instantly, overtaken and consumed by a white-hot pain. Then a dull confusion overlay the last few moments. When the hand drew away, it was like waking from a dream where all the details that had seemed so real and vibrant slipped away as her eyes opened. Iona blinked, feeling a terrible throbbing in her skull. Then she realized that the strange young man was in front of her. When had he come? What had he taken? She had no idea...
Chapter 29:
The Coming Demons
"How many of them do you think we can protect?" Kota said in a quiet voice. He was careful to speak in the human tongue as he said this. There were many extremely acute shamalak ears nearby, and he had the sense not to add to the fear that already pervaded his tribe.
None, Gretis thought but said instead: “I don’t know.”
They had made their way to the caves in the side of the mountain the Nakawa tribe called: "Hrothma." According to several elders, this was the most ideal defensive position the local countryside had to offer. There were numerous large stones at the foot of the mountain sticking up out of the ground, which would provide plenty of opportunities for Kota and Gretis to maneuver around and between barriers and hopefully avoid being surrounded by the enemy's likely large numbers. Most of the caves went back no more than twenty paces at the farthest, and they were narrow and short. Gretis had directed the woman and children, and many of the men, into seven of these small caverns, but they could scarcely be seen behind the wall of spears that stuck up and outward in the cave-mouths like the prickled backs of porcupines. Every able-bodied shamalak in the tribe had spent hours carving wooden spear after spear for this task, and there were close to a thousand of them in the dirt. This was by no means a superb defense against an army of demons, but it would slow attackers down, and the swordsmen of the tribe had been carefully divided amongst each cave. Quite a few of them had Denigoth military blades and even shields, and they had been instructed to lie in the breaks between the spear clusters and attack cautiously.
Gretis had also carefully stationed shamalak archers surrounding the clearing that would be the battlefield. Most of them were perched upon branches, concealed behind leaves and pine needles, each one with several quivers packed to bursting with arrows. They had been instructed not to fire until Kota had engaged the enemy directly, so as not to give away their positions until the confusion of battle had set in.
She and Kota were the main defense. This terrible notion loomed in Gretis's mind as she watched the light begin to disappear behind the treetops in front of them. How could they be enough? The tribe would die tonight, and likely so would she and Kota. They could not leave though. Kota would never abandon his people, and Gretis would never abandon him, so there they were.
"How are we doing?" a low voice said from behind in shamalak.
Gretis turned to see Keema, Kota's father, standing behind them. His aged face was troubled, yet not terrified.
"I'm sorry... for all of this," Kota said, his voice tight. He gazed down at his father's feet. The two of them had not spoken to Gretis's knowledge throughout all the preparation for battle. These were the first words they had shared in nearly ten years.
To her surprise, the wizened shamalak grinned at his son, revealing yellowed fangs. "You got real strong, didn't you?" he said. The old man reached up and put a hand on Kota’s right arm and squeezed the thick muscle. Kota's animus made no defensive move at all – an unusual reaction. "When I saw you kill that demon... I've never been prouder of anything in my lif
e." He turned his toothy grin on Gretis and said: "I'm so grateful to you for all you've done for my son."
She saw the defiance in the old shamalak's smile, and it lifted her heart. He was determined to be gracious in the face of death. Despite the fact that he was an elder, he had a blade dangling from his left hand and had insisted on fighting with the young warriors. She saw where Kota had gotten his courage.
"He was the best student I ever could have hoped for," Gretis said, responding to the man in his own language.
Keema’s smile widened, and he turned back to Kota. "The messengers you sent from the Dentha tribe told me you were learning how to write like humans can. You should have sent me a letter, you little shit." He slapped his son's arm, and once more the animus gave no reaction at all.
The trace of a grin appeared on Kota’s face. "You can't read, father."
"Then you could come tell me what it said someday," the old man chuckled.
Kota's face constricted. "I'm sorry I didn't send you anything. I'm sorry for bringing all this death on the tribe!"
"What are you sorry for?" Keema said, rolling his silver eyes. "Being born? If that is what brought these monsters, then your mother and I are to blame far more than you." He glared at the trees from which the demons were soon to emerge. "You did nothing wrong, my son. I see you standing here, ready to face an entire army of the darkest things in this world to protect your people." His gaze grew very intense. "The courage of that—the honor! I want you to know that you've filled your father's heart with pride, and if I die tonight after seeing my son stand so brave and strong, I'll have had a better life than any man I know."
Kota did not speak for a moment, though the muscles in his throat clenched several times. Gretis knew he held his father in the deepest respect, and these words would mean a great deal to him. Finally, Kota managed to say: "Thank you, father."
Keema sighed up at the stars. "Your mother wouldn't come over with me. She said you'd have to talk to her when the battle is over—well, she commands it." He took a few steps back toward the others and said: "I'll do my best to keep her safe. Give those demon bastards every bit of hell you can, my son!"