The Warlock's Fortune: Act One Page 5

  Ivar takes deep panting breaths, “Serves the bastard right,” he says before spitting on the corpse at his feet.

  “Small group for an invasion force, there could be more in the area,” Ein says, looking at the grisly bodies.

  “Then we shouldn’t stick around. If we hurry, we’ll reach Prek before sundown,” adds Fenrir.

  “We should check for supplies before we move on,” says Ein.

  “You mean ale?” Fenrir asks.

  He and Ein both chuckle, “yes, I mean ale.”

  Three fat tents surround a generous firepit in the roadside clearing. Fenrir and Ein move toward the far tent, Ivar enters the closest and I make my way over to the last. Maps overflow from a table in the centre of the room and surrounding it are weapon and armour racks. A kudine stone sitting atop a stool catches my eye from the corner of the room, and I move over to use it. The old girl could use a new edge. I free her, from the pouch at my back, and begin to tend to her.

  Overjoyed, Fenrir and Ein present a couple of bottles, as I exit the tent. Ivar sits at the firepit by himself.

  “What’s the matter Ivar, didn’t find your other arm?” I laugh loudly.

  “Come brother, we’ve stayed long enough,” Fenrir says handing Ivar his bottle.

  “There better be some women to keep me warm in this town.”

  Shadows grow longer as the sun lowers itself further in the sky. Finally, we reach the town’s edge. A wide canyon has cut its way through the forest edge and a narrow bridge is the only way across.

  “This canyon kept the eastern rebellion at bay a century ago,” Ivar explains as we begin to cross the canyon. “The camp eventually grew into a city after the rebellion was crushed.” Falling at this height was kill any beast. I focus on the end of the bridge, where solid ground waits. A strong wind howls past us and I can almost feel the bridge sway.

  “Are you alright Ulfmaer?” Fenrir asks after glancing at me.

  “I’m fine.” We’re halfway across but the canyon seems to drag on forever. The bridge begins to sway back and forth. I try to walk faster.

  Four soldiers stand in line, blocking the end of the bridge.

  “Stop there,” the soldier in front of me commands. He’s larger than the others and completely bald. “You need to be questioned before you can pass into secured land.”

  “Let us pass,” Ein says, “we don’t want any trouble.”

  “Nobody gets through without permission,” the guard tells Ein.

  “Get out of my way you bastards,” I growl.

  “Stop,” shouts the bald guard.

  “Your Captain knew we were coming, let us through and we will settle this with him,” Fenrir says trying to convince the men. The guard draws his longsword as I close in on him. Metal rubs against leather as Ein and Fenrir ready their weapons behind me.

  I place a hand on the newly sharpened Morovig, “Are you going to stop me?”

  “You must be a fool,” the guard says.

  “Move back, you half-witted dogs!” I hear a man’s voice yell. A soldier with a full set of decorated armour runs toward us.

  “Sir, they’ve no papers and all carry weapons,” another guard says.

  “Do these men look like Sigurdians, do you see any blond hair or blue armour?” the Captain yells.

  “Are you Captain Takna?” Fenrir asks as he sheaths his new sword.

  “Yes. Captain Arvid, the poor fool, had sent word you were coming. Follow me to the camp.”

  As we finally get off that cursed bridge, the Captain explains, “We were never ready for this war. Repelling the southern assaults over the past five years has cost us greatly. As fewer and fewer men are left to patrol the lands, crime has begun to seep through us. Thieves, bandits, murders, we haven’t had the men to catch such criminals ourselves.” This Captain knows nothing of the spread of poverty forcing farmer to steal and soldiers to rob.

  “It’s a good time to be a hunter then,” Fenrir laughs.

  “Indeed, there is plenty of work.”

  We’re lead a large camp overlooking the canyon, passing through a large fence surrounding it. The camp is split into 4 sections and a clear patch at the centre. Many tents are empty, their men having been drawn to the southern conflict.

  “So, here’s the trade,” Takna says as he stops in the centre, “you track two men for me and I’ll let you through the border.”

  Fenrir looks annoyed, “how much is the pay then.”

  “None, we have no coin to spare.”

  “We’re not doing shit for you without pay,” I tell Takna. His expression quickly shifts to a deadpan stare.

  “You, and this whole group, have already been branded as outlaws. Only I can give the order to cancel that branding. Let that be your payment,” says the arrogant Captain.

  “You can’t bar us from passing though. Surely there is a better way we can work this out?” Ein protests.

  “Stay where you are,” Takna says, denying Ein any answer. He goes into the large tent overlooking the muddy courtyard of the camp. He emerges only moments later carrying the bounty sheets. “Kill these men and I’ll let you go,” he commands as he reaches the sheets out to Fenrir.

  “Piss off bastard, I’m not lifting a finger for you without pay!”

  “Are you Ulfmaer? I hear we could almost put a bounty sheet out just for you,” Takna says as he compares himself against me. “Kill these men, or die,” he finishes. “Now get away from my camp, I hate you mercenary types.” I jump forward, ready to kill this asshole, but my brother stops me, grabbing hold of me before I can strike.

  “Remember where we are,” Fenrir warns. A pair of archers stand ready to fire as the aim their bows at me. I shake off Fenrir’s grip and watch as Takna walks away. I will kill him before I leave this town. Two arrows spear into the ground, barely missing my toes.

  “Come brother, time to get a drink,” Fenrir tells me as he turns and walks away.

  “I need a drink after this,” Ein agrees.

  We make our way along the dirt roads leading into town as the sun sets at our backs. Eventually find a tavern, only a short walk from the town square, called the Naesta. It sits two floors tall and is covered in windows. Inside there are a dozen tables, surrounded by sets of simple wooden chairs. I follow Fenrir as he takes a seat next to a window at the back of the tavern. An unlit candle waits in the middle of the table. The bar wench makes her way over to us as she lights the candles on each table. Fenrir orders four bottles from the wench and four plates of whatever food they have.

  “Did you here that?” asks Fenrir quietly, a time after finishing his food.

  “Hear what?” Ein responds.

  “Both Risna and Halvar are ash, burnt to the ground,” he says, seeming fairly concerned.

  “The gossip of ale-knights doesn’t mean much,” Ein says.

  “Enough about that. How do we go about hunting these two men?” interrupts Ivar.

  “We’ll split it up, a man each, then we can finish this in half the time,” says Fenrir.

  “You want to actually hunt the bounties?” I ask, “without pay?”

  “What choice do we have,” answers Fenrir.

  “Who goes with who then?” asks Ein as he pours himself another mug of ale.

  “I'll take Ulfmaer.” Fenrir says bluntly, “We’ve got the most experience hunting bounties, so we’ll have Olaf, the bandit.”

  “Then you’re with me Ivar,” Ein utters as Ivar assesses him further.

  “Tomorrow morning we head for Noror Creek,” Fenrir says as he reads from the bounty sheets that lay out before us. “When we return, we’ll wait in this tavern every evening, you will do the same for us,” Fenrir tells Ein and Ivar. “Once we have the bounties, then we can work out how to deal with this Captain.”

  “It’s late. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.” The table is empty now as Fenrir leaves his seat.

  “Wench! Another here!” I yell as I notice my mug has drained empty again.

&nb
sp; “You know the tavern we’re staying at. Get a room there and I’ll find you at daybreak.” Fenrir has wandered away before I properly gather his words. Daybreak, he said. The mere thought of such light. The wench trots over in her dusty dress and drops the ale before me.

  “A poison to drown out your sorrow,

  An ale for but a drop of your coins,

  Share with me your lovely drink,

  And I’d share with you my bed.” A few of the drunks join in the chant.

  True to his word, Fenrir has us on our way while the sun is still low in the sky. A lone soldier had followed our target to the Noror Creek. An area north-east of the town, where the canyon fades back into a river. He made his camp a short distance from the banks of the creek, that’s where we’re to find him. Fenrir leads me through the forest that edges the canyon, a bothersome trek through thick scrub. Every time quiet holds us for too long, Fenrir begins whistling his favourite tavern tunes.

  Half a day passes before we approach the creek. The air grows slowly thicker as clouds gather above us and the daylight turns grey. The canyon beside us grows shallow, now rising to our level, revealing a body of water flowing through it, this must be Noror creek.

  “Over there,” Fenrir says as he points to the edge of the sparse forest, “a camp.” As we move closer, I see that the clearing is covered in tracks circling a pile of ash and charcoal. “They were here,” he says while looking closely at the ash.

  “But there aren’t here now. How much longer is this going to take?”

  “All in good time brother. There were four sets of boots,” he tells me, pointing to some marks along the ground.

  “Their tracks lead off this way,” he says pointing into the forest. “Let’s keep moving.”

  Fenrir pauses suddenly, looking around at our surroundings.

  “What is it?” I ask as I draw Morovig from her resting place on my back.

  “I’m not sure, it looks like there was a fight.” Fenrir’s head darts back and forth, searching for something “Those prints almost looks like…,” he trails off before he finishes his sentence. A silence befalls the forest, as bugs stop buzzing. Trees rustle beside us. Creeping through the dense foliage, three hounds, the size of bears, emerge. Their eyes wide, and their ears flat. A deep, wild growl rumbles from the beasts as they bare their fangs in aggression. Slick, black fur coats their skin and blood drips from the corners of their mouths. They watch, weaving between the trees slowly, as they close in.

  Leading the group, the largest, oldest mutt is covered in scars. The three dogs split apart as the oldest turns to me and the others move toward Fenrir. His check curls a little as he tries to hide his fear.

  “Come on! To me, ya’ horrid hounds!” I yell. I draw another of the dogs toward me and together them prowl toward me. I squeeze Morovig’s handle, assuring myself. Blood surges faster than ever. I bellow as I charge the beats. The older one mirrors my actions, barking and rushing in. The mutt latches onto my drakine plated arm before I can swing Morovig into it. Fangs pierces through the armour under the crushing pressure of the hound’s bite. The other beast circles behind me and jumps onto my back, I slam it into the ground before it can latch on as well. I lift the bigger hound into the air before it can drag me down. Wielding Morovig with only my right arm, I muster as much force as I can to swing her into the smaller hound as it attacks again. She cuts into the beast’s side, the wound splatters blood across the dark soil. The larger dog’s teeth sink further into my flesh and I yell in pain again. While the wounded mutt tries to circle behind me again, I see Fenrir pinned against the ground. He’s lost his sword and is pinned to the ground, barely holding the mutt off himself. I lift Morovig behind my head and throw her at the dog atop my brother. It drives into the beast’s side and the mutt is toppled over.

  While I’m distracted, the wounded hound pounces from behind me and latches onto my shoulder. I’m brought crashing to my knees. At least my arm is released from the larger dog’s jaw, quickly it lungs at me again though. As I back-fist the older beast, my broken armour shatters and pieces scatter across the dirt. It stumbles away dazed, I reach into the other dogs open cut and begin to tear its insides out. The beasts jaw only locks tighter as I spill its guts all over the forest floor. From nowhere, the large dog bites into my side and I begin to collapse. Looking up I search for my brother, trying to see if he had survived, I see no trace of him. Enraged and in fury I turn to my shoulder biting the dogs face. My teeth tear a chunk of its face, my bite pops one of its eyes like a berry. The beast yelps and finally limps away to die. With the last of my strength, I force my thumbs into the older dog’s eyes, squashing both. While blood and eye parts squirt from around my thumbs, the beasts bite tightens. Suddenly Morovig slams into the back of the dog’s neck. My brother is wielding her, he swings her a second time. As Morovig drives into the beast again it surely dies, it’s jaw releases me. Panting deeply, I push its corpse off me. Fenrir reaches down and offers me his hand. I take the help, barely able to stand.

  “Cunts,” I utter between gasps for air.

  “They got you pretty good didn’t they,” Fenrir says. “You can sit down over there.” He helps me limp over to a tree. Slowly I drop to the ground and rest my back against it. “You think those things ate Olaf?”

  “The beast’s mouths were dripping blood.”

  “I’m gonna’ try to take this thing off ok,” he says while examining my arm. Shattered chunks of drakine poke out from my flesh and blood pools in the holes. Fenrir releases the straps hold the last portions of my armour on and throws it aside. He empties his water pouch cleaning the various gashes left in my skin. I reach around to the last bottle secured to my waist and free it. After ripping the cork free, I gulp down half the bottle, then offer the rest to Fenrir.

  “It’s yours.” He says, refusing it. “I’m going to go find whatever is left of Olaf.”

  We only trek back a short distance before making camp for the night. The sun begins to hang low at the edge of the sky and my bloody clothes are all dry.

  “We should be able to make it back in a day or two,” Fenrir says as he moves the newly kindled embers over to the small fire he’s built. “When we get back, you have to see a healer.”

  “Why?” I protest. Fenrir gives only a disapproving stare.

  “Those clouds have been growing thicker and darker each hour, soon Trig will pelt us with rain,” he says as he returns his focus to the flickering flames.

  “You need to get your arm fixed. There are still splinters of drakine it in and the bone could be broken.”

  “It’s not broken.”

  “You need to look after yourself Ulfmaer,” he says, looking at my wounds.

  “What’s the point.” Fenrir looks at me again. “I’m going to die anyway.”

  “No, you’re not. Not yet.”

  “What do you live for then brother?” I ask.

  “The same thing as you. Hope for a better day, that tomorrow I won’t have to kill, or live one day at a time, going from job to job.”

  “Your head was always full of dreams.”

  The sun has set, and the night is dark, clouds cover the sky as thunder rolls around the sky, a storm is coming. The journey back to Prek took a day longer than the journey to the creek. Fenrir insisted I lean on him most of the way.

  “They aren’t here,” Fenrir says as we enter the Naesta. “It's been days, they should be back by now,” he continues. “Come, let’s sit,” he says to me as he helps me to a table.

  “Who were they hunting?” I ask my brother as I sit.

  “A pair of thieves held up in an abandoned farm half a day south of the town. Olaf was more dangerous,” Fenrir answers. He looks at my wounds, his face is grave “you need to see a healer tomorrow.”

  “I'll be fine,” I repeat. I hear the slow build of noise outside, rain begins to fall.

  "You need to coat your wounds in a mixture of crushed Red Vine and water, otherwise they will rot," a man says as he
approaches our table. Hanging from a thick belt around his waist, a sword sways in its sheath. His green eyes are razors, cutting through his pale skin. Uncut, wavy slate grey hair rocks back and forth with his steps. As though he appeared from thin air, the man is joining our table before I can object. His loose, blue silk shirt folds and wrinkles as he lowers himself into the chair.

  “You can use the rest of what I have,” the man says as he pulls a small vial from the bag at his side.

  “Who are you?” Fenrir asks.

  “I’m called Lygi. I’m the best bard you’ve ever met,” the man declares.

  “Can’t say I’ve met any,” I say, barely paying him any mind.

  “Most are hopeless romantics, pretty dull folk if you ask me,” Lygi says passionately.

  “Did you come over just to give my brother medicine?” Fenrir quizzes

  “What’s a gift between friends. So, where are the other two anyway? The spearman and the swordsman?”

  “Where’d you learn of them?” Fenrir asks, letting his hand fall next to his sword.