Enter the Lamb's Head (The Adventures of Ranthos Book 1)

by Jasper B. Hammer

  Sarky thrust it forward, straight through the flocker's iron helm. It sizzled within him as the shard corroded the metal and seemed to boil his flesh beneath.

  The flocker dropped, but Sarky was struck across the face by a sword. She collapsed to Ranthos’ right, but the flocker that had cut her was then run through by Vhurgus’ sword and tossed aside.

  Ranthos heard one twang of Alrys’ bowstring and a thump of a body, and the battle was over, silent as it had begun, but Sarky didn’t move.

  Blood sputtered out from a gash that ran fully across her face, from her cheek, over her nose and up her forehead. Ranthos watched her eyes slowly lose focus on him.

  “Scut!” shouted Vhurgus from out of view, smelling angry, “Ranthos, how the scut did you not smell them?! You oughta—”

  Alrys rushed beside Sarky and held his ear to her chest. He was deathly afraid, judging by his heartbeat. “She’s still breathing…” he said shakily.

  Ranthos looked down and clenched his fists. Vhurgus was right; he should have smelled them.

  “He’s flustered,” said Alrys, “He’s not angry at you specifically.”

  “Sorry, cub,” Vhurgus was no less angry. “Alrys, how’d they do this?”

  “Kea leaves likely.”

  “That doesn’t explain why no one heard them.”

  “Look, Vhurgus, I don’t know.” He was very preoccupied, and very short of patience.

  Vhurgus was surely testing that thread of patience, “We could be in big trouble, we’re still a ways off from the caravan. If they do this again, we’re all good as—”

  “It will not happen again,” Alrys said.

  “Alrys—”

  “My Sarky is bleeding out, Vhurgus, you scut,” Alrys said, now matching his anger. “Fetch me clean water and bandages.”

  Vhurgus put his head down and ran to a fallen pack.

  “What happened?” Ranthos asked faintly. Though he knew what happened. He just didn’t know what else to say.

  Alrys didn’t answer. He whispered what sounded like a prayer over Sarky as he cradled her cloven head in his lap, brushing her hair from her face.

  Vhurgus returned promptly and stepped between them and Ranthos as they began cleaning her wound and stopping what bleeding they could.

  Nosgrim and Bell hurried back to the bloody scene, Nosgrim now leaning on Bell’s shoulder. Bell saw Ranthos drenched in blood, “Heavens!” She smelled scared to Hell, “Are you hurt, Ranthos?" she rushed towards him and began inspecting him for new wounds before he could tell her that he was fine.

  Nosgrim collapsed to a knee beside him, panting through his teeth and pressing a rag against his wound. It was almost fully soaked. He needed Vhurgus and Alrys to take a look at him, but they obviously had more pressing concerns.

  “What happened to Sarky?” asked Bell, aghast. She helped Ranthos sit up.

  Ranthos pointed to a bloody sword in the dirt beside them.

  “She’s breathing,” Bell said. “Vhurgus! How far is the healer?”

  Vhurgus smelled frustrated. “With the caravan, which has ideally arrived at Sortie-on-the-Hill by now. But we have no way of knowing.”

  “By the sound of Sarky, we have little time.”

  Vhurgus was openly angry now, “You’re not helping. Stay quiet.”

  Bell flushed, balling her fists.

  Ranthos touched her shoulder to calm her down, “Bell, they’re just—”

  She now smelled angry, “If Sortie-on-the-Hill is as far as you say, then we will not make it in time with Ranthos, Sarky, and Nosgrim wounded.”

  “I know!” roared Vhurgus.

  Alrys slapped his arm.

  “Someone needs to go there to bring the healer here,” said Bell.

  Vhurgus creased his brow anxiously.

  Bell smelled terrified, but like something was welling up inside her. She inhaled a trembling breath. “I should go,” she said, “But I can’t go alone.”

  “No,” said Vhurgus immediately.

  “The caravan will have horses,” said Bell, “We could be back in time to save Sarky from dying, if you meet us halfway.”

  “Let us not talk like that just yet,” said Alrys, an obvious look of terror on his face.

  “Bell, you’re mad,” said Nosgrim.

  Ranthos grabbed her arm, “No.” There was no way. They hadn’t been traveling for half a day and they were attacked. Bell had no experience in the wild, she hardly had experience with people. Ranthos could not imagine her going alone to some town she’d never been. He brought her out here to protect her; whatever happened to her now was his fault. He refused to be responsible for her getting hurt.

  Bell looked at him and placed her hand over his. She looked him in the eye. He watched her ears droop as she smelled whatever emotions he felt. “I have to. I’m useless here with the wounded. I can do good,” Bell said to him, forcing a timid smile, “I need someone to go with me. Or… I need to go with someone.”

  “I’ll go,” said Nosgrim.

  “You’re hurt,” Bell refused.

  “You’re daft,” said Vhurgus. “We do not know how dangerous these plains are. The cursed sheep Ranthos ought to be hunting are here.”

  “Then come up with a better idea,” Bell snipped, brows furrowed and squinting. She smelled angry. “Or you come with me! I know that I’m good as dead in a fight.”

  “And I’m supposed to watch over our three wounded by my lonesome?” asked Alrys.

  “You have me,” said Nosgrim.

  Alrys groaned.

  “You meet Vhurgus and me halfway,” Bell said urgently, “Or make it to Sortie-on-the-Hill if something goes wrong on our end.”

  “This is absurd,” said Vhurgus. “I know for a fact that this will go poorly.” He shot Alrys a glance that seemed to indicate something Ranthos did not understand.

  “How do you know that?” asked Ranthos.

  “I don’t know,” they both said.

  Bell stroked Ranthos’ back gently. She must’ve smelled his frustration.

  Sarky coughed, spraying more blood.

  The slightest hint of Alrys’ fear finally emerged past his hair oil, but was gone the next moment. Ranthos doubted Bell even smelled it.

  “I don’t see any other way,” Alrys said.

  Vhurgus smelled angry, “You said—”

  “I know!” Alrys shouted, stroking bloody fingers across Sarky’s bandaged face.

  “I am going whether or not you will come with me, Vhurgus,” said Bell.

  Alrys clenched his fists and spoke through his teeth, “Give Bell a scimitar.”

  Nosgrim limped to one of Sarky’s swords on the ground and began cleaning the blood from the blade.

  Bell stroked Ranthos’ cheek for half a moment and quickly joined Nosgrim.

  Vhurgus began scolding her for her attitude and ordering her to do just as he said without question, no matter the circumstance, while Ranthos shouted after her that this was a terrible idea.

  Bell seemed to fume with anger as she stomped her foot, “I will obviously do as you say, Vhurgus! Do I look like a warrior?! Stop treating me like a child.”

  “I never—” he tried to protest, but she ignored him.

  “And you as well, Ranthos,” she said.

  “Why do you have to go?” Ranthos asked, “Vhurgus can go alone.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” said Alrys. “If they’re attacked again, Bell can run for the caravan while Vhurgus keeps them busy.”

  “Sure,” Vhurgus shrugged, “By killing me like Sarky.”

  “Sarky isn’t dead,” Bell said firmly before Alrys could burst into a rage. “But she will be if…”

  Vhurgus smelled sad for a moment. Perhaps he thought of Sarky actually dying. He nodded and readjusted his gear.

  “Travel light,” said Alrys.

  Vhurgus nodded.

  With the distinct scent of courage, Bell ran up alongside him holding Sarky’s scimitar in both hands.

  Nosgrim appr
oached and slid the sheath over the blade.

  Ranthos said, “Bell—” but was cut off by Alrys.

  “She’s going and there is no stopping her.”

  “It’s my fault if she dies.”

  “It’s mine,” said Alrys, “And the same for you, Sarky, Nosgrim, and Vhurgus. This is my quest. None of yours.”

  “Ranthos,” Bell chimed in, “I want to do this.”

  “But—”

  “There is no greater love…” she said, shooting Alrys a quick glance.

  He nodded his head.

  It must’ve been Scripture.

  Bell rushed towards Ranthos with tears brimming in her eyes suddenly. She fell to her knees and held his face in her hands.

  He placed a hand on her forearm.

  She wiped the tears away and took a deep breath. She smelled like she was on the verge of bawling but held onto her composure with all her strength. She smelled brave; the sweet scent that came when fear was purified.

  “I’ll see you soon, Bell.”

  “Very soon, Ranthos.”

  16

  The Brave Girl

  Bell could hardly hold herself together. The sight of Ranthos growing small behind her and Vhurgus was almost too much to bear. She felt on the verge of collapse.

  No, Bellelar, be brave. Ranthos would do the same. He did the same.

  He just sat there and watched her leave.

  She should probably stop looking back. Vhurgus was walking much faster than she.

  Ranthos was just sitting there. He couldn’t even stand.

  “Bell, keep up,” Vhurgus growled.

  She nodded and trotted beside him.

  They had entered a place which Bell had never seen before, a vast expanse of grassy pastures. The green-yellow grass was slowly dying with the entrance of Autumn, and the trees that dotted the landscape were starting to lose their leaves. They were so far apart that they seemed lonely.

  Bell gripped her sword tighter as they marched under the noon sun. She double checked that it was sheathed. For safety. How embarrassing would it be if she stabbed herself mistakenly now?

  “Vhurgus! I have to go back!” Bell shouted as her entire body bled out onto the grass.

  “Stupid girl, dumb girl, you can’t do anything right,” Vhurgus shouted, “I can’t waste any time. Ranthos will die and so will Sarky and Nosgrim because of you.”

  Bell shook her head and rushed back into reality. She was completely unharmed. And Vhurgus hadn’t looked her way at all.

  “What uhm…” Bell asked timidly. Vhurgus didn’t turn around, “What else is out here? More flockers? Sheep?”

  Vhurgus raised an eyebrow to her, “Huh? Did you say something?”

  Bell flushed and looked down at her feet, which moved much faster than his to keep pace with his long strides. She must’ve been speaking too quietly. “No, sorry.”

  They marched along a narrow path that was trodden through the knee-high grass. Bell followed behind Vhurgus, and felt like she was an inch tall compared to him. His heavy pauldrons looked like boulders on the shoulder of a giant, and the sword in his hand looked as long as a tree. His armor was made of some sort of animal’s shell, banded with stripes of different hues of red. She was very curious what kind of animal, and wanted to ask him, but opened her mouth and couldn’t form the words.

  She cringed as she remembered the way she had yelled at him for that entire stretch of the trail back in the Shortcut. He must have thought that she was such a pest.

  Ranthos certainly thought she was a pest sometimes.

  But she thought the same of him, so it was alright.

  She smiled.

  This wouldn’t be so terrible, she convinced herself. They likely wouldn’t even meet any more bad fellows as Vhurgus, Alrys, and Sarky likely killed them all back there. And how scary could sheep be?

  Not very, that was for sure. Sheep were just dirty and ugly, they couldn’t be as scary as that nasty buck. Bell saw its face before Alrys and Vhurgus burned the corpse. She had seen tatzelbuck skulls before—who hadn’t, Tatzelton was full of them—but this one was different because it was the face of a real creature. A lone, stationary skull was just part of a dead thing, that buck’s face was that skull. It made her skin crawl.

  Good Heavens.

  She was making this much worse for herself than she had to. She heard her heartbeat quicken and took a number of deep calming breaths to compose herself.

  Vhurgus’ heart was thumping in his chest like a woodpecker. Bell concentrated on his scent and caught a whiff of fear. Everyone was always so afraid. Everyone.

  Bell counted it a blessing that the scent was still jarring to her, and that every other scent was much more common. They’d make it back to Ranthos and Sarky with the healer, and everything would be happy again.

  And Nosgrim, she supposed. He wasn’t too wounded, and was maybe being a little more dramatic than he really had to. He was still in no shape to follow her and Vhurgus, though. And good thing too; she didn’t want to hear his whining the whole way.

  That was mean.

  “Bell,” Vhurgus said, not looking at her.

  “Yes?" she cleared her throat, “Yes?”

  “Do you hear anything?”

  She paused for a moment. Her breath, her heart, and Vhurgus’. The wind rustling through the grass. A small creature over there. Good Heavens! It was an adorable fat squirrel. It disappeared down a hole in the ground. “Nothing dangerous,” she said.

  “Are you sure?" He smelled angry.

  “Yes,” she said. Why was he so angry?

  “Are you?” he repeated.

  She must’ve been too quiet again, “Yes, sorry. I am sure.”

  “No one heard the last ambush.”

  “No one was listening.”

  “You’re supposed to have this magical hearing—”

  “It’s not magic,” Bell said, “We just weren’t listening. I’m sorry.”

  He said nothing.

  She must’ve been too quiet again, and now she was too timid to repeat herself, and he was too angry to make further conversation. He must have blamed her for what happened. She supposed that she might’ve had the best hearing in the party, so it was likely that it was her responsibility. Or at minimum, a missed opportunity to protect these people who had done so much for her already.

  Thank Heavens that Ranthos wasn’t hurt further. She supposed she could actually thank Sarky for that. It was such a strange thing that happened.

  When the flockers first started charging out of the brush, almost half of them rushed toward Ranthos, but Sarky rushed straight for him too, and intercepted them. Alrys seemed to disagree with her course of action. Maybe he knew that it was suicide to protect him.

  Why? Who was Ranthos to them? And who was he to Sarky that she took a sword to the skull to protect him?

  A few hours later, Vhurgus’ pace had remained constant while Bell only grew more tired. Her feet hurt so badly. Her shoes were ripping too. She could see the red and white of her stocking poking through the seams on one toe of her left shoe.

  “Vhurgus,” Bell said loudly. She was tired of not having any conversation and this walk was only getting harder. “Why did the flockers rush to Ranthos?”

  “They rushed to all of us.”

  “But so many went toward him.”

  “Maybe they wanted easy pickings,” Vhurgus lied.

  “He’s my brother, Vhurgus. Don’t lie—” Bell’s face slammed into Vhurgus’ hard back.

  “Gagh,” she said, holding her sore nose.

  Vhurgus had stopped dead in his tracks, smelling fearful.

  She poked her head around him to see an overturned wagon in the distance. “What’s that?”

  “The Drake’s Tongue,” he said, gripping his sword with both hands. “A caravan wagon.”

  Bell was markedly afraid now that he was afraid. She quickly buckled Sarky’s scabbard around her waist and drew the blade out. She copied Vhurgus’ stance and
his grip, but stayed close behind him in hopes that any flockers wouldn’t see her.

  She listened for any, but didn’t hear a peep.

  Fat squirrel.

  Focus, Bellelar.

  Vhurgus asked, “Hear anything?”

  “No,” she said.

  He kept walking, slowly, eyeing the wagon and the surrounding brush. It was a ways off the path, and out in the wide open, the grass wasn’t tall enough over there to hide anything save the squirrel. Though the wind was louder than she was used to, so her hearing may have been hampered. “Flockers could be behind the wagon,” Bell said, “But I don’t hear any and I don’t know If I should be able to or not.”

  “Why not?” he snipped.

  “Because I’ve never been in wind like this before!” Bell said. Vhurgus certainly did not seem to like her very much at the moment.

  “Show yourself!” called Vhurgus to the wagon.

  No response.

  “I don’t like this,” he said, “The caravan would never leave a wagon like this.”

  They finally crept near the wagon. Bell so feared another ambush that she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

  “Wait here,” said Vhurgus.

  Bell did so as Vhurgus walked round the wagon, his sword readied. Bell did not like being so far from him. She felt helplessly vulnerable and assumed that at the moment a fight broke out she would freeze up—just like she did before.

  Vhurgus peeked round the edge of the upturned wagon to the top side and instantly smelled of despair. He lowered his sword.

  “What is it?”

  “They’re all dead,” Vhurgus said grimly, marching past Bell toward the road. Bell had never smelled someone so sad. He immediately turned his back on all of it and marched away, his scent of sadness slowly fading the more distance he put between himself and whoever had died. He was running from it. He refused to face whatever had happened and turned himself toward anything but.

  “Who?”

  Vhurgus didn’t answer.

  “Who?” Bell asked louder.

  There was a pause, and Vhurgus lowered his head.

  She raised her voice once more, “Vh-Vhurgus… Who are…?”

  “Friends of mine. Stop asking.”