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

by Jasper B. Hammer

  Lamb’s Head nodded, “My friends along the Akrometane River have an immortal kudel.”

  “Kudel?”

  “A strange fish. Their ink makes atvyyrk.”

  Ranthos nodded.

  “And a number of leopards atop Tsuthek’s Knuckles.”

  “Tsuthek’s Knuckles?” asked Ranthos.

  Lamb’s Head pointed to the mountaintops around them.

  Ranthos nodded.

  “And finally, Benhazael, who is with me.”

  “Your dragon?!” asked Ranthos, horrified.

  Lamb’s Head nodded.

  Ranthos recounted each beast and every flocker in his mind. There were so many—too many. Ranthos’ breath shortened, and his knees shook as he imagined himself before the rotting faces of Lamb’s Head’s army. It seemed that the White Cult had already won; how could anyone stand against such a terrible force.

  “Will that be all?” asked the Lamb’s Head tersely. He still smelled hurt.

  Ranthos paused. He had truly offended the Lamb’s Head. He shouldn’t have felt guilty for doing so, but did nonetheless. Lamb’s Head was standing for his principles—like Alrys was. It was so strange. “I suppose that will be all,” said Ranthos.

  “Good,” said the Lamb’s Head, “I am glad to have met you… Truly.” He didn’t lie, “I hope to see you again soon.” He touched Ranthos’ shoulder gently, and then dropped his eyes as he walked past him.

  “Wait—” said Ranthos, cutting himself off.

  The Lamb’s Head turned and raised an eyebrow.

  Ranthos’ heart thundered in his chest, “I am glad to have met you as well,” said Ranthos, “Truly.”

  The Lamb’s Head bowed low once again to Ranthos, his marked arms outstretched to his sides. He was framed by the rising sun, a dark figure before the radiant morning.

  The Lamb’s Head rose to meet Ranthos’ eye, squinting in the blinding light reflected off the snow. Ranthos’ could only barely make out his expression, the sun burning his eyes. They kept each other’s gaze until the light became too bright, and the Lamb’s Head looked away—unable to bear it.

  38

  A Quest

  Ranthos woke under a warm sun to the sound of a flowing brook, and a cold sprinkle on the face. His vision reeled as he watched boots slosh through cool, clear water that sparkled softly in the bright sunlight. Ranthos swayed awkwardly, his wrist and knee grasped tightly by large hands.

  Ranthos groaned and raised his head.

  Nosgrim, walking behind him, waved his hand over Ranthos’ face. “Morning.”

  Ranthos mumbled some reply.

  Nosgrim smiled a wide toothy grin and called, “He’s awake!”

  Ranthos then realized that he was strewn across Vhurgus’ shoulders. The bearded giant peered around his shoulder to nod him a greeting.

  Bell came splashing back through the river, her arms outstretched to meet him, “Ranthos you’re awake and alive!” she smelled thrilled, and her eyes were already watering.

  Vhurgus set Ranthos on his feet, and the cold water that consumed his boots felt oddly familiar—almost more comfortable than the sudden warmth—like he was back on the mountain. He teetered on one foot—trying to keep his balance.

  Nosgrim righted him with a jerk on his suspenders.

  Bell almost broke a rib with a hug.

  Ranthos tried to offer a greeting, but found his lips not moving correctly. The woten had worked spectacularly well—apparently.

  “How was it?” asked Nosgrim, “Did it work?”

  “It… was yes,” said Ranthos, answering both questions through his numb lips.

  Bell giggled, “He’s not all here yet.”

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” asked Nosgrim.

  Ranthos squinted to make it out, and felt himself tilting to the side, “Uhmmm…” Nosgrim’s hand was a hazy blur.

  They both laughed at him, Ranthos scowled in reply.

  “It was so…” Ranthos struggled to find the word.

  “Frightening?” asked Nosgrim.

  “Scary?” asked Bell at the same time.

  “Real,” said Ranthos dimly, “I was there.”

  “Where?” asked Bell.

  “The mountaintops,” said Ranthos, “I saw the tops of the clouds.”

  “You’ve certainly still got some woten in your belly,” said Nosgrim with a smile and a slap on the shoulder.

  “No!” said Ranthos, “Remy said—”

  They both laughed.

  Ranthos shook his head. He’d explain later, when his lip wasn’t four inches thick.

  “Cub!” shouted Alrys, rushing through the river to meet him, “You live!”

  “Where are we?” asked Ranthos as Alrys clasped his shoulders.

  Bell giggled, “He sounds funny.”

  “You look funny,” said Ranthos.

  “You wook funny,” mocked Nosgwim.

  Alrys flicked Nosgrim’s ear, and Bell laughed at him. “We are halfway to Weigenzengen,” said Alrys,

  “Wag gan zang gan?” struggled Ranthos.

  “Weigenzengen,” said Alrys, “Lovely town—huge castle.”

  “Castle?!” asked Ranthos.

  Nosgrim began some know-it-all explanation that Ranthos didn’t listen to but replied with, “That’s fascinating, Nosgrim!”

  “Come, cub,” said Alrys, “Follow close,” and he started to walk off.

  Ranthos stumbled a few steps through the water, but slipped on an algae-covered rock, only to be caught by Bell and Nosgrim. They helped him keep pace with Alrys, steadying him the next few times he slipped.

  Sarky, Blossom, and Vhurgus were waiting at the other shore for them. They had crossed a wide, but relatively shallow river that cut through the plains. Each bank of the river was dressed with white-barked, orange-leaved birch trees.

  “How long was I asleep?” asked Ranthos, finally regaining some control of his lips.

  “Five days,” said Bell—cutting off Alrys, “I was worried sick! Just ask Nosgrim, I puked after the fourth day.” She gestured to Nosgrim with raised eyebrows seriously.

  Nosgrim nodded awkwardly, obviously wondering why she needed him to corroborate her story. “Yes…?”

  “It was terrible,” said Bell. “I thought that you would never wake up. I was ready for it too.” She lied, her eyes brimming with tears, as she hugged him again, “I made my peace!”

  Ranthos hugged her back and rested his head atop hers. She wrapped her arms around him, almost causing them to slip on another rock.

  She pulled away and spun her back to Nosgrim, “Show Ranthos what I made him.”

  Nosgrim sorted through her pack, muttering something about how messy it was inside.

  “It’s a bag, I don’t need to organize the inside. It’s organized enough just being in a bag.”

  “No.”

  “Just get the things,” said Bell.

  Nosgrim pulled out a pair of caravaner boots, onto which Bell had embroidered flowers, trees, and cat faces with green thread. It was a little much, but Bell wasn’t one for subtlety. Bell snatched them up and displayed them proudly. “Don’t you love them?”

  Ranthos smiled, “I do. Thank you Bell, will they—“

  “They will fit! I tried them on your feet while you were sleeping.” She hung them by the laces over his neck.

  Once he had stumbled to the other bank of the river, Ranthos was greeted excitedly by the other three. Sarky asked how he slept, while Blossom asked if her woten had worn off yet.

  “Good!” said Ranthos to both of them with a smile and a nod.

  Vhurgus slapped his back, “Thatta cub. Good to have you walking again.”

  “Thank you,” said Ranthos with a grin. “What are we going to do in Weigenzenergan?”

  “Weigenzengen,” corrected Nosgrim.

  “Thank you,” said Ranthos, “Weigenzengern.”

  “Weigenzengen.”

  “Weirgensengen.”

  Nosgrim groaned, and Ranthos
smirked.

  “Rendezvous with the caravan.” said Alrys. “Regroup and plan your next hunt.”

  “His next hunt?” asked Bell, pointing her thumb at Ranthos, “I don’t think Ranthos killed a single sheep. I killed sixty-five. At least.”

  “That number seems to be creeping higher,” said Nosgrim.

  Bell shook her head, “It isn’t.”

  “If it's any consolation,” offered Vhurgus, “Alrys used the plural ‘your.’”

  “Yes,” said Bell, who obviously didn’t know what a ‘plural’ was. “That is a consolation to me, in fact.”

  “I have something—” said Ranthos, taking a shaky breath, “I have something you all need to know.”

  Everyone quieted their voices to listen. Ranthos’ heartbeat soared to improper speeds as all their eyes turned on him and he felt like his mind had gone blank. “My dream was hardly a dream.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Nosgrim.

  “It was real,” said Ranthos, “I was there.”

  “Where?” asked Bell, leaning in closer.

  Ranthos looked North and pointed to the four peaks of the mountaintops, crowned in a halo of cloud. “I fought flockers, and I killed them,” said Ranthos, his voice catching on his throat a little.

  Bell rubbed Ranthos’ shoulder comfortingly, offering him wide, kind eyes.

  Ranthos frowned, “And I stood on the mountaintop…” He sucked in a nervous breath, the eyes of the whole group narrowing on him, “I don’t know if that means anything to any of you. ‘The mountaintop’ was this idea I built up in my mind—” he cut himself off, thinking he was boring everyone.

  “Well? What does it mean?” asked Sarky.

  Ranthos took another breath. He could feel the air rushing through his dry throat. His eyes darted between everyone else’s. “I thought that once I got there, I would find something.” He didn’t like how long it was taking him to get the words out—he had never told anyone about the mountaintops. Not really. Bell knew a little, but they had a roof over their heads last he mentioned it. He had never put words to any of his secret thoughts like this before, much less this publicly. Before every person who knew him. “I expected to find purpose up there. I expected to see everything, to see…” he trailed off again, embarrassed.

  Alrys looked him straight in the eye and nodded—giving him permission to continue.

  “I thought I would see who I was. Who I was truly.” Ranthos said, “But I didn’t find that…”

  Bell must have caught some downcast scent on him, and wiped tears from her eyes, holding his arm tighter.

  “I found the Lamb’s Head.”

  Bell and Nosgrim inhaled a sharp breath.

  “And I found out who he was. Truly,” said Ranthos, conflicted. “He—he’s done more evil than I had ever thought possible… He told me that he’s amassing troops at Sortie-on-the-Hill to conquer Eisenland. He’s got four hundred flockers and one hundred cursed horses—at least. His flockers are hunting bears at the salmon run. He’s going to hunt barruses to curse once he arrives at Sortie-on-the-Hill. He’s got an immortal kudel at the Akrometane River, immortal leopards on Tsuthek’s Knuckles, and he’s got an immortal dragon.”

  “A dragon?!” asked Nosgrim, eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

  “I saw it.”

  “Oh, Ranthos…” said Bell, not knowing what to say.

  Alrys nodded at him, “Thank you, cub. That could not have been easy. He’s an evil man.”

  “No,” said Ranthos instinctually, “He’s done evil.”

  Alrys closed his mouth slowly as his ears perked to listen.

  “But…” Ranthos felt like his lungs had stopped working. He ran his fingers nervously through each other, “I don’t believe he’s an evil man. He wants to do good but—he’s wrapped himself in evil and can’t find his way out.”

  The whole party was perfectly silent. Staring at him.

  Ranthos breathed in a shaky breath and turned his eyes to the mountains in the distance as the wind unveiled the peaks. Ranthos didn’t understand; he had climbed the whole way up the mountain and still lacked that purpose he longed for. Something deeper than what he had.

  His goals were noble, he thought. Protect Bell. Protect Nosgrim. Kill the buck.

  But they were all lacking. They only existed as far as the words that defined them. He wanted to protect Bell and Nosgrim with healing magic because they had stepped into a dangerous world. He killed the buck because it needed to die.

  “What did you want to find on the mountaintop, cub?” asked Alrys.

  Ranthos wanted to find that purpose that was the depth of the rest. Why he should protect his family and why he should kill the buck. “I wanted a quest. Like yours, Alrys,” said Ranthos, “I wanted a reason to be here.” Ranthos straightened his shirt timidly, “A reason to have been born at all—but I only found someone as lost as I am.”

  Bell’s eyes narrowed on him.

  He met hers nervously.

  “I see nothing that discourages the idea that this was your purpose,” said Nosgrim.

  “You have to stop him at Sortie-on-the-Hill. You have to stop the Lamb’s Head. That’s a purpose noble enough,” said Bell with a muted laugh and a faint smile.

  “You don’t think that’s possible, do you?” asked Ranthos. “He told me his entire plan because he believed in it so wholeheartedly.” The scent of fear amassed around Ranthos, the putrid scent. He felt lost in it, like he was drowning, or falling into the abyss. It was the darkest scent Ranthos knew, and one of the most common. He was afraid of Tatzelton, the buck—and everything since.

  Right now, he was scared of talking to his friends. Their intimate gathering around a beautiful stream was putrefied by Ranthos’ scent. He had corrupted it, turned the vast ever-reaching hope of adventure promised him into a dark cave of horror.

  Ranthos’ eyes widened, “This sounds like a fairy story.”

  The Stranger chuckled, “In many ways, it is.”

  Ranthos would’ve questioned the Stranger’s sanity had he not wanted so dearly for it all to be true.

  “Kill the buck, and find me again, cub. Then we’ll talk of hunting faraway creatures. If you can do this, you’ll find true adventure. If you can kill this buck, cub, I will take you with me. You will face beasts unimaginable, and terrors unforgettable.” He spoke with a passion that seemed to originate from memories that were simultaneously scars and marks of honor.

  “Terrors?” Ranthos asked, concerned.

  “The Open Road is not for the weak of heart, cub. The Open Road which my family travels is fraught with danger. And we wolfhounds weren’t born to live mundane lives, cub. We are called to the cliffs of fear and the valley of death; to the mountaintops, dear cub.”

  Where was that hope? Where were his wide eyes?

  They were shut in the face of his purpose—his quest, which was to the mountaintops, yes, but also to the cliffs of fear, and the valley of death. He couldn’t have a quest without danger, no adventure without risk.

  It was too much for him. He was too small, unworthy of the honor of a purpose so great. “Why this?” he asked quietly, remembering the skeletal face of the buck. “Isn’t there something… less?”

  “Of course there is,” said Alrys, “You could turn your back on all of this. Settle into a quiet life.”

  Something about that didn’t sit right with Ranthos. His gut turned at the thought.

  Alrys paused, watching his face, and breathing in his scent, “… Though, I could be wrong,”

  Ranthos creased his brow, “It doesn’t feel right—neither option.”

  Bell looked up at him with some sad, sweet scent.

  “You climbed the mountain for it,” said Alrys, “Take it or not, it is your quest.”

  “And mine… If you take it,” said Nosgrim, placing a hand on Ranthos’ shoulder. He looked him in the eye and said, “I follow you.”

  Bell took his hand and said the same, “I follow you.”

&n
bsp; Ranthos bit his lip, and looked back at the mountaintops. Would he lead his family there? Risk their lives so that he could stand above the world?

  “I can’t put you two in such—”

  “We want to go,” said Nosgrim, his deep voice stern—almost heroic. He had a similar scent of fear hanging on him, but it was not filthy like Ranthos’. It was brave, purified.

  Ranthos wanted that scent for himself so dearly.

  Nosgrim continued, “It’s safe down here, sure, but it’s not where any of us belong. I made a promise to myself when you took me out of Tatzelton, that I would follow you wherever you went. I would keep you safe the best I could.”

  Ranthos looked away, and tried to interrupt him.

  “But I’m not going to follow you if you’re not headed to the mountaintops,” said Nosgrim, “You understand?”

  Ranthos took a deep breath, “I do…” he said. “I understand.”

  “I’m not taking another step without you,” said Bell, her ears flushing bright pink. She smiled sweetly. Nosgrim did too, but without Bell’s dimples.

  Ranthos met their eyes and straightened his back.

  This terrifying quest was his, which he found on the mountaintop, and discovered with his family. Ranthos nodded as the terrible weight settled on his shoulders. He knew what he had to do.

  He would protect those who the Lamb’s Head put in danger. He would hunt the monsters he created. He would fight Lamb’s Head to his dying breath. He would take the chance that Lamb’s Head offered him.

  “I’ll do it, by my bones,” said Ranthos, remembering the oath that Alrys taught him, “I’ll do it.”

  Remy stepped out from behind Ranthos’ leg, climbed up onto his shoulder, and winked.

  The End.

  About the Author

  Jasper B. Hammer is an author who writes books.