by T.P. Grish
GorNu’Set sprang up, getting his weapons. Dorbuuk had ordered roughly half the dwarves to search for Boruggh, with the other half reluctantly taking on guard duty. It would be conspicuous for GorNu’Set to volunteer for guard duty and stay behind, because nobody did. The dwarves who were ordered to stay back lamented the fact they could not participate in the hunt. He shook his head, dark thoughts swirling. That’s how it was, the dwarves would spend their whole lives serving their King. If there was a dwarf who was more worthy or clever than the others, like himself, there was no reward other than temporary praise, if that. He still slept in a single fur blanket, lined up to sup at meal time, and had precious few metals and gems for himself- with most treasures being given to the Clanhome’s coffers.
GorNu’Set smiled as he pocketed his favourite blade. This incident should spark a real war between the dwarves and the human scum… no more big speeches by the King, no more outdated edicts. If his ambitions could not be satiated, at least he would have some fun. And perhaps there would be profit to be had amidst the conflict. Venturing outside the Clanhome entrance, he joined the closest hunting party of dwarves, running through the forest in the impossibly fast manner that only Feykind was capable of.
The three dwarves in the group glanced over their shoulders at him and nodded, happy to have another blade. GorNu’Set crinkled his nose at the rotting smells of the forest. Dwarves much preferred running on rocky, dry ground- but unfortunately much of the surface was covered in pungent trees and foliage. It was part of Feykind as much as the Stone was, but was more the domain of the Elves.
The group ran on until a sight stopped them in their tracks. Ahead lay four dwarves, at least one seemed to be dead and the others were injured. GorNu’Set’s party rushed ahead, moving slowly because of a wet, muddy patch in between them and the group. Dwarves lost a lot of their speed and strength around water, particularly the wet, fungal water of the forest. Normally dwarves would maneuver around wet ground, but the alarmed hunting party paid it no heed. One member of the ill-fated hunting party looked up pleadingly as GorNu’Set’s group approached. He shook his head, panting. ‘This wasn’t Borrugh’s doing. We… were on his trail, he ran north, very… very fast’ the dwarf gasped, pointing north. ‘We pursued, but ran into humans. A band of them, and we sensed more searching the forest. They did this’, his face hardened as he added ‘but we hurt them as well’.
One of GorNu’Set’s party, a dwarf called Retuggio, stroked his dirty beard and asked ‘Could the humans be foolish enough to attack us in retribution for the curse, or our attack on the group of humans travelling to their settlement?’ The injured dwarf shook his head again, ‘We found the body of a human child in our pursuit of Boruggh. Boruggh’s footprints led very close to the human settlement. The child was dismembered’. It dawned on them all what he was saying. Boruggh had killed a human child. The edicts of Eldemon strictly forbade the harming of human children. The humans must have discovered the body before the dwarves did, and were seeking retribution. Though the dwarves were shocked at the killing of the child, their hard hearts felt no pity for the humans, or sympathy for the humans’ anger. If this was war, the dwarves would relish the opportunity to teach the humans some respect.
‘Is it possible to catch Boruggh now?’ GorNu’Set asked, feigning worry. ‘No’, the injured dwarf said, with Retuggio and the other dwarves nodding. ‘We should join with a larger group of dwarves, in case we encounter more humans. Depending on how many humans are traipsing through the forest, perhaps we can then continue our pursuit of Boruggh. But, if it is war they want, then we must prepare’.
* * *
Weylin stirred in his cell, feverish. The events of the preceding days and his ill treatment at the hands of the Sheriff’s goons, had taken a toll on his health. He had known for years that he was a cursed Touched, but had tried to hide it from others just as he had tried to convince himself he wasn’t one. That’s why they locked me up, Weylin fumed, because they didn’t understand that he never asked for these powers. Images of recent events flickered through his mind… running through the forest, being ambushed by Remus and Elaina, the two freaks. Now he was one of them, a self-doubting voice told him, but he pushed the thought away.
His memory went back to what happened before that, the incident with Lillian. He had been speaking to Lillian regularly over the last few months, his attraction for the young townswoman growing. He spoke to her frequently, even when she was doing her daily work, and when she was on her family’s land. And she had the nerve to rebuke him, saying he was too possessive and pushing him away when he made his advances.
Possessive! Bah, he could offer her a better life than any of the other peons in this damned town could. His father might only be a small-time farmer like the rest of the people here, but Weylin had a future. He had trained himself in studying the laws of the land, and he had already worked as an unofficial town lawyer for the people of High Peaks. He was often asked to craft legal documents that would hold up to visiting city officials, and he occasionally travelled to the courthouse in Yondern, a large city a few days travel to the north, in order to represent clients- mostly local townspeople having their day in a major court. No… Lillian got what she deserved for being so stupid.
Snapping back to the present, he noticed that there were only two guards in the barracks. The Sheriff was absent. It wasn’t unusual for the corpulent Sheriff to take frequent meal breaks, but this was different. The two guards leaned against a wall near the fireplace, halberds resting on the wall, and were chatting excitedly. He stood up, rubbing his eyes to clear his vision, and looked out his window, a hole in the wall crisscrossed by bars. There were groups of people running about, many armed, and he could make out people in the distance, heading towards the forest. Weylin didn’t know what was happening, but it was obvious that something had occurred to whip the town into a frenzy.
Even though he was still groggy, there was an urgent thought burning at the forefront of his mind. He was going to be severely punished for the incident with Lillian. What he did would warrant a greater penalty than mere remuneration or whipping. And, with the fact that he was a Touched, instead of being sent to one of the large city prisons, he could suffer a traditional physical punishment; possibly death. Rotting away for the rest of his life (or a good portion of it) was at the bottom of his list of desirable futures, right along with being executed. But, with the distraction…
He bade his time until meal time. One of the guards unceremoniously filled up a bowl with slop specially ‘cooked’ for the prisoners, and wandered over to Weylin’s cell. Opening the gate, the guard began unlocking the iron handcuffs. To protect against the powers of Touched prisoners, guards would clasp their hands in iron shackles. This would restrict their powers, and prevent them from burning off the shackles. Weylin wore them all day, except for meal time and when he was permitted to use the chamber pot in his cell. His dignity chafed at the handcuffs as much as his wrists did. He also knew the guards’ metal armour was underlain with a layer of ceramic to protect against the elements- it was a necessary defense against the magick powers of Feykind and the Touched. He did notice the guards had removed their helmets, however.
As the guard plonked down the bowl of food, he exited the cell and slammed the cell door shut. He proceeded to raise his halberd in a martial stance, the very sharp tip poking through the bars and inches away from Weylin’s neck. The other guard leveled a crossbow and stood near the cell door. They would wait until he finished eating, and then if Weylin wanted to eat again tomorrow, he would pass the bowl back through the doors. That was the routine. Rubbing his sore wrists, Weylin made a pretense of eating, but out of the corner of his eye he focuse
d on the fireplace against the far wall. Although he could generate fire out of thin air, his powers seemed to give him some control over extant fire as well.
Maintaining his focus on the fireplace through furtive over-the-shoulder glances, he concentrated on the heat. The orange-red heat of flame, the essence of fire. He instinctually grabbed control over a chunk of ash with his magick, an inch long piece of burnt firewood shrouded in flame. He did not so much move the ash, as move the flames surrounding it. Not knowing exactly what he would do with it, he instinctually tried to move the ash near the guards. Maintaining concentration meant turning away from shoving spoons of gruel in his mouth to watch the airborne piece of ash.
‘What’re you looking at, lout!’ one of the guards shouted, clanging his halberd’s axe blade against the bars. ‘Hurry up and eat!’ The chunk of ash was now right behind the heads of the oblivious guards. Weylin darted the chunk of ash in front of them, dangling in front of their eyes. They reacted in surprise, one guard trying to swat it away and the other tightening his grip on his halberd and narrowing his eyes.
He had to be fast! Weylin concentrated with all his might on the piece of ash. He gave up all pretense of eating and began gesturing and chanting instinctually. He imagined the burning ash imploding, its very fiery essence disintegrating. The guard with the halberd knew something was afoot, and had already moved his halberd back for a killing strike, ready to impale the helpless prisoner.
A flash of light, and dozens of orange-hot sparks ensued, as the piece of ash impossibly disintegrated. To Weylin, it was merely a bright light, but the guards were blinded, their eyes seeing nothing but white-hot light. They fumbled and screamed, but no one else was in the barracks to hear them. Weylin grabbed the wooden end of the halberd and pulled in, the already off-balance guard slamming against the cell. He wasn’t hurt, but Weylin could see the key-ring hanging on his belt, within arm’s reach. Weylin grabbed it. Hastily, he unlocked the cell door and rushed out. He had a moment of panic as the guard swung his halberd in Weylin’s direction and the other guard fired his crossbow in the direction of his footsteps. The bolt whished past a few inches from Weylin’s right ear and slammed into the wall. The guards were trying to feel their way to the door. Not before Weylin. He barreled out of the barracks door, slamming the heavy oak shut behind him. Glancing around, he saw no one close by, only groups of people in the distance. He saw no other guards within proximity.
There was no other choice, he must escape into the wilderness and make his way to another town. He trusted his skill and determination to keep him alive. He ran furiously towards the outskirts of town, with the giddy thrill of a man defying fate. Grabbing a handful of food from an unattended merchant stand, he kept running. There were few people who were close enough to possibly see him, and he easily skirted around them and kept sprinting forward. Towards the edge of the forest. Towards a new future, one he would decide for himself.
* * *
It was obvious they were being followed, though Remus and Elaina didn’t know by what. They were miles from High Peaks, and had avoided the gangs of angry peasants, forging their own path towards the dwarven territory- guided by Remus’ skill and Elaina’s magick. Elaina claimed to hear muffled, heavy footsteps and Remus felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Whatever it was, it was larger than a dwarf. Signaling to each other, they drew their weapons and kept an eye out for any movement in their periphery. Long, tense moments passed before it struck.
Alerted by Elaina’s yelp of surprise, Remus swung around in time to see a huge bear-like creature charge at them, growling deafeningly. The creature was huge, fur light brown streaked with a dull blue. Around its face were three plates of natural chitin, one on its forehead, and two on its cheeks, flexing around its massive jaw. Remus swung his hand-axe just in time to deflect a savage bite, smashing against the monster’s large teeth. The Feybeast had gotten close enough that Remus could smell the fetid breath of its salivating jaw and see its yellowing fangs. Elaina slammed the end of her quarterstaff on the monster’s back.
The monster charged at Remus and lunged with a thick paw, with the lanky man barely leaping out of the way. He chopped his hand axe into the beast’s thick neck, just behind the forehead plate. It was a devastating blow, but the hardy animal continued its rampage. Elaina focused her powers, condensing and cooling the moisture in the air. Flakes of ice and whirling fog began to form, hovering above her outstretched right arm. A shard of pure, magickally hardened ice formed, hovering above her hand. She willed it forward with tremendous momentum, impaling the side of the creature’s belly and fragmenting.
The creature roared and moved with frightening speed, swiping at Remus’ head with a paw, then leaping into the air at Elaina, maw wide open. The clumsy swipe smashed into a tree near Remus, sending chunks of bark and wood flying. Elaina moved sideways and held out her quarterstaff, the blunt, narrow metal end impaling the creature. The staff did not penetrate very deep, the momentum of the creature causing it to slide off, and Elaina to drop the quarterstaff. Remus lifted his arquebus, aimed the clumsy piece of metal, and fired.
There was a flash and Remus’ arm ached from the energy of the weapon discharging. However, the gun missed, scorching a hole in the forest floor a good foot from the beast, which was at least distracted by the noise. He would need more practice, he realized, as he drew his axe again. He scored hit after hit with his axe on the beast’s back, while Elaina picked up her staff and backed off in one graceful motion. The beast was losing blood, and Elaina carefully circled the beast and smashed it repeatedly with her hard-oak quarterstaff, each blow’s impact enhanced by the power of wind she imbued into the weapon.
Wary of the slowing, yet still vicious beast, they managed to score lethal hits between its face plates, finally slaying it. The massive, hairy Fey lay still on the forest floor in a pool of blood.
‘By Palrinah’s boots, what was that?!’ exclaimed Elaina. Panting, Remus replied, ‘A Morrbeast. I’ve seen it mentioned in a book. By the Hells, I can’t remember the last time I heard about someone encountering one of these’. Elaina bore a troubled look, ‘It must be the expansion of the town that’s causing this’, she said matter-of-factly. ‘We’re awakening these things, just like we’re enraging the dwarves’. She spoke without judgment, and Remus could not argue with her reasoning.
They travelled for two more hours, putting distance between themselves and the dead beast. They both were visibly tired, having had a trying day. They settled into a rocky outcropping, starting a small fire and quickly eating their rations and drinking generously from their waterskins. They were too exhausted and stressed to talk, so they slept- Remus taking first watch. He warmed his hands by the fire, staring at the twinkle of stars, hearing the chirps of insects and smelling the rich scents of the wild. He sat in silence during his watch, listening to the noises of the slumbering forest. Time passed like a blur, and soon it was time to wake Elaina. Remus gratefully took his slumber, falling asleep as soon as his face hit the bedroll.
Morning cast the forest in a whole new light. Sunlight fell from the heavens, dappling the ground and imbuing the skin with delicious warmth. Woodland critters and birds cavorted and quarreled greedily, and the smile on Elaina’s face showed that she was enjoying the day too. This was still the wilds of Corsen, and at any moment the dangerous forces of Feykind could appear. Wariness was always the order of the day, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the beauty that nature provided. ‘That weapon of yours did not function very well, Reym’, Elaina said matter-of-factly, packing her supplies. ‘I don’t like it, it is too reckless… too much raw power without focus’.
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nbsp; ‘The arquebus may be helpful, these kinds of devices may be necessary if we have to battle the Fey’ Remus responded, helping Elaina pack up their supplies. ‘So what is the plan anyway?’ Remus mused lightheartedly, trying to change the subject. ‘Are you asking for advice?’ Elaina replied mockingly, raising an eyebrow. He did not respond. Elaina spoke, this time seriously, ‘A war between High Peaks and the dwarves will not end well, all the stories about wars with the Fey speak of the resultant horrors. We’ll have to see what we can do’.
Remus replied, ‘If the dwarves did kill the child, diplomacy may not work. I plan on fighting alongside the townsfolk if it comes to that. For all their flaws, they do have reason to be angry’. Elaina found herself nodding, feeling a pang of pain and anger at the death of the youngster. ‘I agree, but maybe we can find whatever did this and kill them. Whatever must be done to prevent a protracted war with the dwarves’.
They set off, walking carefully after yesterday’s encounter. Remus and Elaina chatted amiably despite their wariness, they were well-rested and enjoying the sunlight. Autumn was in bloom, and the hardy trees shed yellow and green leaves that crunched under their boots. It was a few hours, as they were nearing what was considered dwarven land, that they were alerted by the smell of acrid smoke. Walking in that direction yielded the sight of a human war party from High Peaks. The local guards and militia seemed to have mobilized fully! There were two dozen men in the group, but sounds of battle and shouts from the distance indicated there were other war bands present. Dear gods, was it possible an all-out war could have started in one day? They wondered if they had underestimated the wrath of their fellow townspeople.
The war-band had a full dozen armoured guards bristling with weaponry, and a dozen militia recruits. War dogs barked and scouted the woods, and two steel ballistae were mounted nearby. Several of the men had bows and crossbows in hand, flaming arrows and bolts loaded. They would fire the dangerous ammunition seemingly randomly into the surrounding forest. Fires and smoke were thick in the air. One particular guard seemed to have the regalia of an officer, and was commanding and hollering at the others. Remus and Elaina drew his attention, and he looked them over suspiciously. ‘You come to join in the fighting?’ he barked, then turned and yelled commands to an unfortunate soldier. ‘How many people are fighting against the dwarves? Under whose order are we fighting?’ Remus queried.