Healing Wounds in Arabarb By Charles Matthias
Yajgaj had first gone to Gmork's listening room but the door was sealed against him. After many long months watching the mage and the Baron, he knew that the only time this room was magically sealed was when Gmork wasn't there. He would have to search for the mage, and the best place to do that was from the battlements.
He jumped up the stairs two at a time until he reached the eastern walls. Situated on the declivity they rose higher than the western walls affording him a good view of the entire castle and the land surrounding Fjellvidden. It took him only a moment to spot Gmork. The beastly mage was on the western battlements spewing fiery spells into the city. Yajgaj peered and saw a tangle of men and horses at Fjellvidden's western edge, but his eyes were not good enough to make out any details.
A sudden cacophony of Lutin screams behind him caught his ears and psun him on his feet. On the northern bank of the river near the bridge, he saw the dragon Pharcellus appear amidst the Lutin camps, spires of flame erupting from his jaws to roast the warriors. Thankfully none of them were Blood Harrow; that was one less chore he would have to tend to.
Still, he felt a vicious thrill fill him and with the little earthenware jar hidden in his left hand, he raced back down the steps to the next landing and crossed the bailey to the western battlements. Gmork had a gleeful, concentrated look to his snout and eyes as he constructed strange runs in the air, bolts of brilliant flame arcing into the town where they were met by short screams. The half a dozen soldiers who had been standing guard were all clustered to either end of the wall as far from the wolf mage as they could.
He touched the bone knife at his right hip and then rushed down the wall shouting and waving his right hand in the air behind him. "Master Gmork! Master Gmork! The dragon! The dragon is back!"
Gmork dispersed the rune he had begun to draw, his jowls curling in irritation and his ears lifted along either side of his beastly head. "What did you say, Lutin?" The contempt in his voice was plain but Yajgaj liked it when his kind were underestimated.
For his part, Yajgaj tried to act sufficiently alarmed. He waved his arm and gestured to the east. "The dragon! He's back and at the bridge killing my people!"
"He is?" Gmork's eyes flashed over the Lutin's head, although from where they stood they bridge was hidden behind the northeastern portion of the castle. The wolf mage turned his ears as the breeze rushed through his pepper-gray fur; and then his eyes widened in fury. He pushed past the Lutin striding quickly toward the eastern battlements.
Yajgaj grabbed his bone knife in his free hand, jumped into the air, and drove its long sickle-like blade squarely between Gmork's exposed shoulders.
Gmork begrudgingly admitted that the Resistance had courage and a certain degree of ingenuity. After he'd managed to disable the wood mage they had fled between the buildings at the southwestern edge of the city where Gmork could not see them. And if he could not see them, he could not properly aim his spells. But the soldiers had them pinned there and two of his pups would keep them within the city. They had only two choices, either be cut down in by the soldiers, or make a break for the western gate. Gmork truly hoped for the later so that he could crush the handful with his spells.
It was not that he preferred to kill them himself; a dead man was dead no matter who landed the killing blow. But he felt more confidence that he'd be able to obtain that mage alive if it were his spells and not the indiscriminate swords in Calephas's army. So he launched and occasional bolt to help convince them that they couldn't stay back behind the buildings and in the alleys, but otherwise kept his attention on the gates far to the west.
The thought of having six pups was so delirious that the impertinent Lutin's interruption made him growl. At least until he heard what the foul little beast had to say. "He is?" he asked in alarm. The dragon's return could give courage to the Resistance and fear to the soldiers. If the battle turned against the soldiers, the people of Fjellvidden might find the last dregs of their courage and that was something he could not allow.
Gmork turned from the battlement and pushed past Yajgaj and started toward the higher northern ramparts to see the dragon for himself. A few more bolts of energy and spears of ice should be enough to finish that interloper off.
A sharp agony arrested him, and he spun on his paws with a bellow of rage, flinging the Lutin against the stone. His flesh erupted in fur from the tips of his ears to the long tail behind him, the expensive furs he draped over his body melding with him by sheer dint of magic. The Lutin braced himself against the wall, clutching his left arm as he tried to push himself to his feet.
Gmork reached behind him and yanked the blade form his flesh, blood pouring out before the wound closed itself up again. He turned the long, wicked knife over in his paws, glaring past it at the Lutin whose wide yellow eyes brimmed with hatred. "You little traitor," Grmok said as he dashed the knife against the wall where it shattered into a hundred tine fragments. "How long have you been waiting for that opportunity? How long..."
His ears turned at the sound of battle to his left and not just to his right. He did not take his eyes from the Lutin who had finally planted one foot beneath him and was pushing himself upright against the wall. The soldiers who were supposed to guard the battlements watched warily from a distance.
"You let the Resistance into the castle. Stupid. They're all going to die. As are your precious Blood Harrow." He flung one arm and a small bolt struck the Lutin in the chest, knocking him back to the ground. Not enough to kill, but he wasn't going to let this one die easily. The stab had hurt him! That could not be allowed.
The Lutin scowled at him as he scooted back a few paces along the wall before trying to get his feet under him again. A foul scent struck Gmork, and he noted a trail of familiar yellow crumbs decorating the edge of the outer wall. He twirled his claws in the air and deadened the Sulfur's gagging putrescence. "So you have some of that wonderful little powder the Resistance made. That's not going to help you either, Lutin. You..."
Gmork stared in delightful surprise at Yajgaj. The magic of the Blood Harrow elders was long rumored to be esoteric and he had long wished he could have studied it, but Lutin magic was closed to him. And it was also for all intents and purposes nearly invisible to him. But now, with his eyes given the focus and strength of the eagle, and his subject trembling before him, what was invisible now, though still subtle and easy to miss, was visible.
He barked a laugh and nodded his head, even as he allowed bright plumes of fire to balloon about his hands. "How interesting. And clever. You aren't really a Lutin after all."
Yajgaj didn't think a single knife to the back would be enough to kill Gmork, but he had expected the blow to have so weakened the mage that he'd have been able to finish him off with a few more quick strikes. Instead, he'd been flung against the wall while Gmork now towered over him with all his monstrous powers focused on him. The beast's face flecked with spittle, jaws snarling each and every word, yellowed fangs bared beneath quivering jowls, and golden eyes pulsing with unalloyed rage.
The first blow crushed the earthenware jar in his left hand, but he kept his fist tight around the remains, even as his pal and fingers began to sizzle with more ferocity than if he'd grabbed coals from a fresh fire. He scooted backward as quickly as he could, trying to decide what to do. Gmork advanced after him, staring intently at him and mocking his plans. Yajgaj trembled in fear when Gmork mentioned the Resistance in the castle. Either he stopped the mage now or they were all going to die.
But how? He had other knives at his side, and the powder burning his hand in the other, but the scent of the yellow powder was already gone because of Gmork's magic. What was there left?
And then, the mocking superior words of the wolf-like mage, who towered above him, more beast than man as he hunched forward with outstretched arms coated with flame, brought a fierce indignation into his heart. "You aren't really a Lutin after all."
Yajgaj, snarled about his tusks and grabbed one of his other knives in his right hand, legs tensing as he pushed himself up against the battlement wall. "Yes I am!" He flung his left hand forward, releasing the powder. Gmork spread his arms in a wall of fire with a barking laugh. The powder struck the flame and turned an unholy red and orange, pouring forth like a smear of oil across the beast's snout and face, burning and searing the fur and flesh. That liquid fire consumed Gmork's laugh into a howl of purest anguish.
Yajgaj got his feet beneath him as the beast tried to warp magical incantations in the air with his hands. The Lutin leaped forward with his right arm outstretched as his left reached for another dagger. Gmork's head dashed from side to side as the flames rode up his snout, across his cheeks and darted into his ears and melted his eyes. Yajgaj grabbed at Gmork's left side with one hand while the other drove the dagger up through Gmork's jaws, crunching bone and snapping his fangs shut.
As Gmork writhed and tried to reach for him, Yajgaj swung beneath him arm, feet digging at his thighs to give him leverage. He then drove the other dagger straight into the back of Gmork's neck, and with the force of his swing, sliced completely through the bone and flesh. The monstrous body fell twitched once and then fell forward to the stone. The flaming head bounced one to the side before coming to rest, the first bone knife jammed up to the hilt through his jaws.
Yajgaj stood gasping for breath as the smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. He couldn't afford to let the head burn completely, so he grabbed what was left of Gmork's furs and smothered the severed head with them. They sizzled and smoked for several long seconds, even as Yajgaj's left hand seared from where he'd gripped the powder. But the fire did go out.
The soldiers along the walls watched in horror for a moment, and then fled. Yajgaj stood up and looked at the body with a long-toothed smile. "I am a Lutin!" he declared, and then spat on the wolf-shape sprawled across the wall smearing blood everywhere.
Yajgaj bent down and picked up the wolf-head by the hilt of his dagger and was delighted to see that while most of the flesh had cooked over his snout and the front of his face, the rest of his head was still intact. He stashed it back within the furs and slung it over his shoulder. One head down.
Now he had to find that bastard Calephas and claim his second. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias !DSPAM:4de0de7e112611804284693! _______________________________________________ MKGuild mailing list [email protected] http://lists.integral.org/listinfo/mkguild
