Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias
Yajgaj was grateful that he did not run into any of the human
soldiers or the Resistance as he raced through the castle to the
eastern gate. The sack of heads bounced at his side, but did not
hamper his pace. And his heart fluttered with relief when he saw the
other dozen and a half members of the Blood Harrow tribe assembled
waiting for him in the narrow hall just within the gate to the
eastern declivity and woods.
He noted as soon as he arrived amongst his brother Lutins that two of
them were bandaged over their arms and faces. Yajgaj looked to Khilaj
who met his questioning stare with a crooked glare. "The funny powder
humans made; that pup blew it in their faces. They live."
"But scarred," Yajgaj finished with a brutal grimace. He hefted the
satchel with one hand and his lips curled back over his sharp teeth
and tusks. "Wolf mage and baron both dead. Time to go home."
Khilaj and the other Lutins all smiled and jostled a little closer
toward the barred gates. But Yajgaj's second shook his head after a
moment and gestured to those doors. "One of the pups went east. Wolf
mage may be dead, but... they still dangerous."
Yajgaj grunted and slung the sack back over his shoulders. The heads
bounced on his back with a satisfying thump. "We go south first then.
Humans want us gone. I want to be gone." And then with growing
conviction he added, "I want to be with rest of tribe. We not stay
here any longer."
The other Lutin's all grinned in hearty agreement. They had spent far
too long away from the rest of their tribe and now that their enemies
were dead, each of them felt the instinctual longing for the
companionship of their own kind. For a true Blood Harrow, only the
company of other Blood Harrow could truly satisfy and bring comfort
in the midst of the sufferings common to life.
"Then we go south first," Khilaj agreed. "Weapons. Pups still out there."
All of the Lutins drew their weapons, knives and staves, as well as
slings and a couple short bows. Yajgaj kept one of his bone knives,
the one that had severed the heads of Gmork and Calephas, in his
right hand while his left secured the sack. No matter came to pass he
could not afford to lose those heads; they were his promised price to
the Blood Harrow elders.
Khilaj opened the gates and immediately half a dozen Lutins fanned
out onto the empty sward before jumping up the slope toward the road
to the bridge and beyond to the woods. Yajgaj and the rest were quick
to follow them, the two injured Lutins keeping to the middle but
still holding their weapons like any proud warrior. In time they
would boast of their scars and their valor in attaining them.
But as they reached the road, from out of thew woods ran three dogs
standing on two legs. They bore no clothing, but even so, it was
obvious from their shorter more colorful fur and their floppy ears
that these were not Gmork's pups. Rather, Yajgaj knew that these must
be the Keeper dogs that the wolf mage had kept in the kennels. His
fellow Lutins turned their bows and spears to face them, each eager
to claim a new pelt for themselves from a hated Keeper.
"No!" Yajgaj shouted as he stepped forward, brandishing his knife and
snarling at his fellow Blood Harrow. "Leave Keepers be! We not at war
with them." He then turned and bared his tusks at the dogs who were
still rushing toward them from down the sward. "You three dogs will
die if you fight us! We not want to fight you. War with Gmork over.
You run back to castle and seek Lindsey. He's a Keeper too! Go, run dogs!"
The dogs snarled at him as they came to a stop, holding their clubs
aloft. The nearest and largest of them barked in fierce anger, "We
aren't going to let servants of the Baron get away with their lives!
Filthy Lutins!"
Yajgaj laughed and swung the sack over his shoulder. "The Baron? This
baron?" He grabbed Calephas's head by the hair and hoisted him up for
the three dogs to see. Behind him he could hear the tension
tightening on one a bowstring. Stupid dogs. Didn't they understand he
was trying to save their lives?
The three Keepers stared in shock as they beheld the severed head.
The first whined and said, "You... you killed him? Why?"
Yajgaj stuffed the head back in the sack and closed it up again. "He
was both our enemies. We leave Arabarb now to you humans. Either get
out of our way, or I let my brothers take your hides to warm their
children." And judging by the thickness of their coats they would do
very well to keep many Blood Harrow children warm during the bitter
and long winter nights. And their beastly skulls would look very
imposing atop their pinions.
The dogs looked at each other once, before with low growls and whines
they lowered their makeshift clubs and started moving down the slope
toward the castle, keeping an even distance between themselves and
the Lutins. Yajgaj nodded approvingly. "Lindsey in the castle. He's a
dragon, but he will help you." The glared at him once more before
turning and running toward the open eastern gate.
Khilaj stepped up behind him and asked in a low grunt, "Why you let
them go. They had good pelts."
Yajgaj pointed to the forest in the south. "Because Blood Harrow
don't need war with Metamor." He waved his knife in the air and
started to jog. "Come!"
The Lutins fell into a steady loping pace behind him as they crossed
the declivity at an angle to the south. Within a minute they
disappeared within the sheltering confines of the forest. Fjellvidden
and their last year there was now things of the past.
He just hoped they didn't run into any of the pups along the way.
----------
Baron Calephas didn't just keep bottles of wine; apart from the
nearly fifty bottles that Elizabaeg counted in the late baron's
larder, there were also three heavy barrels for distilling and
fermenting that were full. There were too many bottles to carry all
at once, but the barrels they could roll through the halls so long as
they took extra care on the steps. Between her, Alfwig, and Gwythyr
they managed to bring all three barrels down to the same floor as the
armory within short order.
Once done, with Gwythyr leading the way, they rolled the barrels with
their hands down the halls until they came to the armory. The oaken
door was shut but smoke was curling out around the edges and the odor
was painful to their noses and made their eyes water and sting.
But before they could reach the door, two familiar figures bounded
down out of the hallway in front of them. The young dragon with gray
and red scales took up a large portion of the hallway, and almost
burped flame when he saw them rolling the barrels toward them.
"Father, Mother!" Lindsey gasped as he bunched his neck back as far
as it would go, his claws gouging the stone beneath him. His wings
tried to spread but he aught them in time and folded them tightly
against his back. "We've come to help."
Behind him walked the pup named Jerome in a remarkably human guise.
Apart from the wolf ears and a somewhat flatter nose, his face was
completely human, the broad foreign face that Alfwig had seen many
times in the last month whenever Gmork had come the dungeon to visit
his acquisition. His tail wagged once when he saw them but he didn't
say anything.
"This wine should stop the fires," Elizabaeg said as she patted her
barrel. "We just need to get it in there."
The pup looked at the barrels, glanced over at the door with smoke
curling around its edges, and grunted. He leaned forward, his arms
sprouting a silvery, black pelt as they lifted over his head. Lindsey
awkwardly tried to move backward to get out of his way, large golden
eyes even larger as he stared at his friend. Jerome flung his arms
forward and a loud boom echoed through the hall. The stout oaken door
was torn from its hinges and split in half as it flew back into the
armory. A wave of heat rushed across them as the hall was limned by
brilliant orange light, the flames leaping up along the racks of
weapons and armor; ordinary fire through most of the chamber, but a
plume of nuclear yellow at the center rising a mere four feet scalded
their eyes.
The three humans shielded their eyes with their arms, while Lindsey
curled his neck to stare back at them. The pup closed his eyes and
stepped forward toward the inferno. He was still a dozen paces and
the fur on his arms, legs, and tail began to sizzle at its ends. He
lifted his above his head and threw them forward again and again. The
flames lapping the walls like licentious tongues bent backward under
the force of those blows, trembling beneath the powerful gusts of
wind, before leaping back up into the air to greedily consume the
wood and to try to eat the stone walls.
Jerome stepped forward another pace and flung his arms forward again,
his lips moving and a song rushing forth from his lungs. The melody
twisted and turned with such simple grace that the three humans could
not help but feel a serenity dwell in them. The flames buckled with
each blast of air until those nearest the door finally surrendered
and winked out into charcoal black lumps.
But the spire of fierce heat that was the progeny of Luvig's powder
continued to scream its fury. Jerome turned and walked back, still
with his eyes shut tight, took the nearest of the barrels from
Gwythyr, and rolled it forward and turned it on its side so that it
could actually fit through the doorway. With a quick shove he sent
the barrel like a stone from a sling into the armory. It bounced off
the wreckage of one of the shelves and spun. Jerome threw yet another
punch, and the wood splintered, splashing and streaming the
fermenting wine across the room.
The wine and fire squealed and loud and piercing cry that made
Jerome's ears fold back and his face scrunch into a painful wince.
But that plume of light did falter and fade, no longer blasting the
armory ceiling like a furnace. The pup raced back to grab the second
wine barrel and he did the same thing with this one. Even before
waiting for the hiss, he took that last from Alfwig's hands and flung
it into the room, bursting the barrel right next to what was left of
the powder fire.
To their surprise and relief, the flames consuming the armory
dwindled to smoldering ruin and were no more dangerous than a fresh
bed of hot coals. Jerome turned and shook his body from head to paws,
creating a cloud of black dots of burned fur. He panted a moment even
though his face was no more beastly than before. He blinked open his
yellow eyes and smiled ever so slightly. "Well, the fire's under
control. The air is bad in there. I wouldn't go in."
His head then jerked on his neck as if it had been tugged by a
marionette's string. He bolted back up the hallway and stairs.
Lindsey gasped and craned his neck after him, before turning back to
the humans. "I have to follow him. I'm sorry."
"Go!" Elizabaeg said, waving her hands at her draconic son. "Go save
your friend."
Lindsey's long body turned about in the corridor and he leaped on all
four of his legs after the pup. Once both of them were gone, Gwythyr
breathed a long sigh of relief. "I guess we should get something to
finish putting out the last of the flame."
"Let's get the wine bottles," Alfwig suggested with a gruff sigh.
"Give the room time to air out."
Elizabaeg looked one last time where her son the dragon had gone
before turning to follow her husband back to the late baron's larder.
----------
It didn't take long to go from chasing down the soldiers as they
tried to flee to marching in triumph toward the castle with cheering
crowds on either side of the street, celebrating their liberation
from the despised Baron and his monstrous mage. Gerhard rode with his
sword lifted high, while the mage riding on the back of his steed
shook his head groggily. Jarl marched along behind them with Ture and
Eivind at his side. Even the men from the tundra managed to get the
six dogs that had survived to heel at their sides.
Jarl looked at the faces lining the streets. Most of them were older
men and women who were beyond their fighting years, but there was a
large number of middle aged men and women who had just never had the
courage to stand up and fight. There were few children left in
Fjellvidden, most having been sent elsewhere to escape Calephas's
immediate interest. But what few he saw were jumping up and down and
eager to run and greet the men who had sent the army fleeing.
Quoddy and Machias swooped down from the sky and settled on the back
of the horses in front of Jarl and Ture, and they cawed their delight
and relief. Jarl grimaced as he saw them, but then smiled a little.
For once, he had to admit, the Keepers had actually helped. He nodded
to them and said, "Thank you for helping us through the alleys back
there. It was... not looking good."
The gull squawked a laugh and stretched out is wings. "I'm just so
glad we've all survived. Last night I didn't think it was possible."
He turned his head to the southern sky and his chest seemed to
deflate as his webbed feet shifted on the horse's back to get better
purchase. The horse for his part swished his tail a little more
intently. "I hope Lubec's okay." The puffin nodded vigorously at that.
The crowd moved in behind them as they came toward the castle walls
and the main gatehouse facing the southwest. Jarl stared up at the
walls and felt his heart clench tight in his chest. This had been his
home as a child. He hadn't set foot within these walls in almost ten
years. How much would be changed? How much would need to be cleaned
after the filth that had lived here?
"Look," Ture pointed past the horses at the men standing at the gate.
"It's the others!"
Jarl didn't know any of the other Resistance members from
Fjellvidden, but he did recognize the handful standing at the
bailey-side of the gatehouse as the same who had been in the mill. He
did see the black-bearded Innkeeper Brigsne among them, but he didn't
see Elizabaeg. A part of him wanted to be glad about that, but he
pushed it aside. He'd revealed who he was now. There was no more
reason to hide.
"Gerhard, you old dog!" Brigsne roared in laughter as the mounted men
passed through the gatehouse and into the bailey. The Innkeeper
hefted a broad axe and swung it down to set the pommel at his feet.
"Decided to come anyway?"
Gerhard dismounted and helped the groggy Harald to his feet. "And a
good thing I did. What of the baron and the mage?"
"Dead," Brigsne said with a grunt. "Or gone. All those the mage had
control over are themselves again, and I saw one of his pups just
turn tail and flee. The soldiers and all of the Lutins have fled too."
"We'll have to make sure. But first we need to tend the injured and
then find some place to make plans. We've recaptured Fjellvidden. But
Calephas's soldiers still hold the rest of the villages and towns
throughout Arabarb."
"We've put Luvig in one of the bedrooms that wasn't fouled by Lutins
I'm not sure he's going to survive."
Harald blinked and was finally able to focus his eyes on the
Innkeeper. "Where is he? I might be able to help him. I am a mage of
some minor skill." A few of the riders heard that and began to
chuckle viciously.
The Innkeeper frowned but hefted his axe and motioned for the mage to
follow him. "This way."
While Harald followed Brigsne toward the castle proper, the other
riders dismounted and began scrutinizing the fortifications in the
event that they needed to quickly mount a defense. The two birds
jumped into the air and flew up to the gatehouse towers and cawed
excitedly to one another.
Jarl walked straight up to Gerhard and put his hands on his hips.
"You heard who I am?"
Gerhard looked him up and down with one eye as he brushed his steed
down and checked for cuts. "The thane's grandson, or so you say."
"I am!"
"What of it?"
"I helped us win that battle," Jarl pointed out as he tried to stare
down the older man. "And I deserve to be a part of any counsels taken
to free the rest of Arabarb."
Gerhard seemed to mull that for a few seconds, moving his tongue from
side to side in his cheeks. At last he grunted and glanced at the
gatehouse. "We'll see about that. You've certainly distinguished
yourself, young Jarl Thoronson. For now, take Ture and Eivind and any
others who wish through town to collect our men who've been injured
and those who've died. Bring them here so we can treat them, and the
rest to wait until we can bury them."
Jarl felt indignation swell up in him at being given so base a task.
But after years of living the life of a fisherman, he'd grown adept
at swallowing his pride. And, as his mind processed just what he'd
been asked, he recalled the many times he had helped his adopted
brothers when they were hurt, or what they had done for him when he'd
been hurt.
He'd also been asked to lead this task. It may be something small,
but it was a start.
"I will see to it," he assured Gerhard with as straight a face as he
could manage through his confusing complex of emotions.
Gerhard almost managed a smile as he nodded and offered, "Thank you."
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
!DSPAM:4de7f724310421366210097!
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