|
|
| |
|
| ||
|
|
The right of Brett Martin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of these documents may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical including photocopying, scanning and recording, for any purpose, without the express written consent of Brett Martin.
All characters in this short story are fictious and any resemblance to real persons, living
|
|
The companions spent their first morning in Uond at the amphitheater of Partask. They’d found accommodation soon after arrival, and after a quick meal - particularly by Traskor’s standards - Amroff had insisted they make for the amphitheater where they would find a display of creatures and artifacts.
They set out through the bustle of the markets beneath a clear blue sky. The sun was shining, the wind chilly, although less so than Rillandon. Thankfully, the amphitheater wasn’t difficult to find, being situated closer to the docks than the eastern part of the city. In any case, they could hear the cheering and flourish of trumpets for more than half a league off, and only had to follow the large convoy of creaking carriages and goblin scouts that wound its way en masse towards the crimson structure.
Inside, Amroff found a seat near the aisle, Klas at his side. Traskor and Joseph squeezed in behind him.
“Well attended,” said Traskor, glancing askance at the fat merchant next to him.
“I can see why,” Amroff watched the arena with controlled excitement. Within a circle of fluttering banners came a large procession of creatures. He assessed the beasts from a mage’s perspective, calculating their performance in battle.
Some appeared brutally efficient, while others he just simply appreciated the look of. He particularly enjoyed the prowling menace of a sabretooth tiger and the leisurely wander of a majestic mammoth. Its curved tusks swung low to the ground as it plodded around the arena’s perimeter.
“There’s one creature which’ll not feel the cold I’ll warrant,” said Traskor.
“I agree,” Amroff replied.
“How about you Joseph," said Traskor seriously. "Those old bones of yours keeping warm?”
“Warmer than you’ll be if you keep that up,” Joseph favoured Traskor with a withering glance.
Traskor guffawed as Amroff tried to listen to the loremaster speaking of the ancient breed of dire wolves. Yet it was the artifacts that most fascinated him that morning, especially the steel arachnid ganglings of a Phyrexian walker: its bladed legs and shining eyes reflecting light like sunstruck silver.
Yet despite its warlike appearance, the mage in him recognised it as a potential blocker in a duel. Amroff soon ignored it. There was a perversion of nature here. Something that was not meant to be crafted into existence and Amroff had no desire to turn his magic to such arts.
Real giant spiders were his friends.
Next came a Soldevi beast gasping steam as it jerked its way around the arena, a leprechaun capering beneath it.
Amroff figured the steam beast was quick enough to dispose of the leprechaun but it made for a good show nonetheless.
“Some would say the future lies in creatures of that nature,” Joseph suggested.
“How do you mean?” Amroff wanted to know, not taking his eyes from the action.
“I mean machines,” Joseph clarified, a little tetchily. “There was a Soldevi sage back home who claimed machinations were the future. According to the sage, there would come a time when they would rule Dominia.”
“I doubt that!” Traskor scoffed. “Sounds to me he was a heretic spouting nonsense of that order. Men only need machines to lay siege to castles, Joseph. Some poor grunts push them there. We fire some rocks. Make a hole. Once in though, it’s a warrior’s work, pure and simple.”
Joseph smiled and shook his head.
“Who are they?” Amroff asked both of them, indicating a group of warriors on the far side of the arena.
They sat in a group of five. Black-skinned and athletic. They might have passed for foreign gladiators but for their fanged, panther heads.
“I’ve never seen their like before,” Traskor admitted quietly.
“Nor I,” said Joseph. “Panthers though, I know that much at least.”
Amroff examined them, wondering at their abilities. Suddenly he became aware of a coldness and was drawn to a brown-cowled figure in the crowd far off to his left. Its pale features were chiseled narrow, a stripe of dark face paint across its cool gaze.
Klas groaned a warning.
Amroff shivered, put it down to the cold. There was something so thin and asexual about its appearance that he couldn’t tell if it was male or female. Female, he concluded, noticing the feminine curve of her cheek and wispiness of her hair. Yet there was nothing sensual about her features, simply a remote scrutiny of a like he’d never seen before. The runes on her robe too were strange. They reminded him of something he couldn’t place. Cryptic writing on metal. His head started to ache.
He felt a rough hand on his arm. “Let us take our leave, sire,” Traskor looked concerned. He’d noticed the woman too and recognised her as a Soldevi adnate.
A follower of the dark. He’d also seen Amroff’s face become unreadable.
Traskor had been enough skirmishes to recognise the rising tide of battle fury in a novice warrior even if Amroff himself didn’t know it. The last thing they needed now was for the young mage to release his power against a dark follower here. That would only bring the demon worshippers down on them like a plague.
Amroff slowly realised his hands were clenched tight into fists. He made a conscious effort to relax, released a deep breath and nodded. “Very well, Trask.”
Traskor breathed a silent sigh of relief and shared a glance with Joseph. The old man nodded and tugged Klas by the scruff.
Amroff let Traskor guide him towards the stairs down into the echoing darkness under the amphitheater. He still couldn’t figure those runes. Instead, spells floated into his mind. That and the image of a flaming face, its voice dark with power. It left him feeling light-headed.
Behind them, the steam beast thumped its way around the arena. A taunting song came from the leprechaun. The crowd erupted into laughter, but to Amroff, one voice laughed louder than the others.
“A fine handle of mead, just as you requested,” said Joseph having elbowed his way through the noisy throng.
“My thanks, Joseph,” Amroff took the offered mug and leant against the bar.
They had been here for most of the afternoon and Amroff was only now becoming less subdued. He was determined not to brood on the woman from the arena. Nor the vision she’d left him with.
The tavern was a low-roofed, dark-hued chamber with a dirt floor and a fire blazing in the hearth. Round brass-studded shields were mounted on the walls and a diverse array of patrons crowded the tables. A poet, thin and earnest, scribbled prose on parchment. Dour pikemen rubbed shoulders with the slobber and grunt of orcs. Then there was a rowdy bunch of goblins who slurped ale and played cards with some gorilla warriors.
Amroff was watching this with interest. The concept of gorillas playing cards was something he'd never have given credence to back in Rillandon. He eyed one wearing a horned helmet which sat with a deep frown as it considered its hand. Its neighbour glanced fiercely in his direction and Amroff looked away.
“Mark them, sire,” Traskor said quietly, noticing the exchange. “They’re berserks. Calm now, but raise a sword to them and they’ll gut you swift as a fishmonger.”
“I know of them,” Amroff realised. “I read a treatise only last summer by someone named Carthalion. An advocate of the Juniper Order apparently.”
“I could believe it,” Joseph agreed. “The Juniper Order know more of the woods of Dominia than many others. How though, Traskor, can you be so certain they’re berserks?”
Traskor took a slow sip from his tankard, his longsword’s scabbard clanking against his leg. He loved being seen as an expert. “See the v-shaped notch on their spears? That marks them as elite warriors. Far beyond your usual ape, if not for their language and current card playing. Those warriors will far outmatch many races. We have gorillas of a kind in the mountains of Baluduvia of course. Wild, raging things that become more so when confronted, but little in the way of berserks as far as I’m aware.”
“Warriors,” Amroff studied them with renewed interest.
“Yes,” Traskor nodded. “And they fight well by accounts, but their strength lies in their aggression. The war cry of a gorilla is something to behold if you're of a mind to weaken your knees.”
Joseph wasn’t convinced. “So they’re fierce. I always thought the skill of a warrior is what marks a champion Traskor. I’m surprised to hear you say otherwise.”
“In truth, you are right,” Traskor conceded. “But there is always a place for heart in battle. What you say often holds first in war lore. People speak of skill but heart counts for much too.”
Amroff was intrigued by this. “You admire them, don’t you?”
“It’s true,” admitted Traskor. “I would give much to test my mettle against them. I’ve fought madmen, but a berserk is of another nature entirely. Total fury focused on your destruction. Imagine it.”
They were all quiet for a time, until fate intervened.
“Good King Christopher!” Traskor roared, “What is that stench!”
Amroff coughed.
“It’s that bear that’s what it is,” Joseph said, nose wrinkled in disgust.
Klas sat there unmoved, although he did look more relaxed in a bearish way.
Traskor went and threw open a pair of window shutters in the wall near the bar. He came back waving his hand with a chuckle. “That’d knock down a bull elephant. You should stop feeding him those beans, sire.”
“I will,” Amroff had to admit it was pretty bad. Maybe there was a spell in there somewhere. Bog Fog or Striking Wind perhaps.
Crisis over, the conversation of the three friends turned to other matters. Amroff was already looking forwards to the next morning where he would seek to purchase artifact spells. He’d seen nothing as yet of what he wanted but the Uond festival was the place to find it. As it was, he’d continued his experimentation with blue magic. The flying creatures were a particular boon. Air elementals and Mahamoti djinn, for instance. He’d yet to summon them. Only glimpsed them at nights when he’d come close to accessing the mana of the islands. Seen their forms: majestic and muscular like quicksilver ice carvings. Watched them spin around as they sensed his presence. Then there were the creatures of the sea, awesome sea serpents sliding through the chill dark depths of Dominia’s Southern oceans. He’d observed one just the other night, his spiritual self sitting on the ocean floor as it passed overhead, massive and seemingly without end. There appeared to be many ways to kill a Pit worshipper.
“Thinking pleasant thoughts, I trust?” Traskor asked.
Amroff smiled. “Very pleasant, yes.” When Traskor continued to watch him he thought he’d better explain himself. “I was thinking of how well things are going. Of how soon we’ll be traveling.”
It was lie of course, but he figured it wouldn’t do any harm. He knew how concerned Traskor became when he dwelt on his quest. Maybe he was right at times. But then Traskor hadn’t buried his mother with the stain of pit fire still charring her neck.
Traskor’s gaze clouded. “I would not burden myself with haste if I was you sire. Remember, we still have the horses to purchase. Among other matters. There will be some delay I expect.”
Amroff agreed that this would be time-consuming. They would have to buy supplies for their journey hundreds of leagues East to the fabled towers of Tresserhorn. He planned to leave the choice of horses to Traskor who seemed to
understand the creatures. He’d seen how horses responded so easily to Traskor’s commands. It was almost magic of a kind.
Amroff placed his mug back on the bar. Outside, he imagined he saw the red glint of rats’ eyes in the dark alleyway, and there silhouetted by light, was the woman in brown, staring at him.
Evil, he had time to think. Then she vanished, leaving him doubting his own vision.
Something shrieked behind him.
Startled, Amroff whirled around, saw nothing. “Wha-?”
“No problems here,” he heard Traskor say with distinct indifference. “Could be fun to watch though.”
“But Trask, outside ther-”
Traskor distractedly held up a hand. “Relax and watch this, sire. We’ll see who the warriors are.”
Amroff glanced in the direction Traskor was looking. Some disagreement at the card table by the looks of things. One of the goblins was grinning broadly as he raked in another pile of sovereigns. By the mountainous size of his winnings it appeared he’d been lucky for much of the night.
The gorillas rose from their chairs glowering. Amroff didn’t think that was a good sign. The leader reached out and shoved the grinning goblin’s chest. He lurched backwards into a barbarian with tresses of red hair who swore, turned around and knocked the goblin flat with a punch.
Another goblin gestured with two fingers at the gorillas.
That set the whole place alight.
The offending goblin was thrown across the room into a party of orcs. Mugs crashed and guttural curses were barked as the fight boiled over like a wave to surrounding tables.
Next thing Amroff knew a sausage-nosed goblin was running at him with an axe in hand. There was a mad battle glee in his eyes. A shameless love of violence. For all that though, he didn’t get far.
Klas reared up and batted him with a hefty paw.
The goblin catapulted against the wall. Dust exploded behind him and he collapsed senseless, his nose considerably flatter.
Another goblin swiped a punch at Traskor’s head.
The crusader blocked it with contemptuous ease, “That was a mistake,” he told the goblin sternly, then slugged him in the guts, grabbed him and hurled him over the bar.
Earthenware pots crashed to pieces. When the dust settled only a pair of grimy boots could be seen poking out from the mound of cracked pottery.
“I told you,” Traskor grinned at Amroff, clapping his hands clean. “No problems.”
Amroff wasn’t so sure, secretly perplexed at his friend’s casual approach to conflict.
“What about that?” Joseph cried, dagger in hand, pointing across the melee.
It was the gorillas. They were going utterly mad, striking out at everyone with frenzied blows.
The goblins were shrieking in terror. One of them made a brief show of defence and was poleaxed by a club before he could blink. The barbarian who’d thrown punches had his head smashed against a table so hard the wood split in two. Tables were hurled over. Swords and spears whipped up and suddenly many in the room were fighting for their lives.
“Lie low,” advised Traskor seeing the roughhouse behaviour quickly turning deadly.
“As you wish, son,” agreed Joseph crouching behind some upturned chairs.
He reached out tugged Amroff’s robe, “You heard him. Get down.”
Reluctantly, Amroff did so. Traskor remained standing by Klas, providing a barrier of protection.
Amroff glanced around, mouth dry. The window behind them was too small to get through which only left the main door. Yet there was only one way through the debris and right now it was all gorilla. Then again, now was a chance to use his powers. After all, he’d commanded a monster gorilla in a duel. No reason why he couldn’t control these ones too.
As if reading his thoughts one of the apes turned in his direction, made eye contact and snarled.
“Now we have trouble,” Traskor remarked, and whipped out his sword.