Jessica Brown
Stories
7
Chapters
1,940
Words
857.1 K
Comments
0
Reading
2 d, 23 h
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As the night grew, the army’s chatter faded from the forest. Fires were snuffed. Blankets drawn. Guards posted. All settled into a quiet slumber, fearing little and drawing comfort from their fellows and the protection of their tribal demons. By this time, Kyembe the Spirit Killer had erased those demons from this world and all others, but none here could know that. Nor did they know the budding danger in the dark. Looming figures stalked the woods beyond the sight of the sentries, their inhuman eyes…
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Without waiting for response, he placed the writings of the old wizard down and touched the vulture’s feather to the flame. It hissed as an old serpent arising from slumber and spat copper sparks and black smoke. The Sengezian’s deep voice rose into a song of exultation, turned hideous by the Tongue of Demons. He began to move. With grace, he whirled about the roaring flame - a lean silhouette against the blaze - his lithe limbs bending and swaying in a rhythm predating the ancient stones they stood…
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The campfire danced atop the stones, casting a flickering orange light and hissing from fat dripping above. Six quail hens and a plump hare roasting upon a copper spit sizzled, their skin darkening to golden brown. Their aroma was tantalizing. St. Cristabel turned the spit and anointed each with salt and sour wine. Her shadow - made long from the flame - danced over the hull of her dugout boat and bundle of supplies, more weighted for a beast of burden than a human. The vermillion metal of her bearing…
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“You wretched, mad, treacherous filth-monger!” Wurhi shrieked, drawing her dagger and leaping at the knight. She was caught by the wrist and held in place like a child. “Let me go! Let me go!” The Zabyallan struggled violently but the strength of that grip was truly pythonic - she might as well have tried to uproot one of those giant trees. The saint’s fingers were not closed completely, but they did not move even when Wurhi strained with her whole being. She tried to stab her dagger into the…
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A shriek like a mammoth’s trumpet ripped through the ruined tower. Transfixed by the cry, the flight of the Garumnan warriors scraped to a startled halt. “That was lord Eppon,” a pale man murmured. A scarred woman groaned; her knuckles white on her spear. Uneasy eyes rose skyward, but none emerged from the portal in the ceiling. Only silence greeted their ears. “We…” a young warrior choked, his voice warbling and reedy. He shook himself like a dog in the wet. “We need to aid our lord!”…
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Kyembe’s scream shattered the twilight. Bone splintered. Arrows jostled in his wounds, cutting wide. He sought his flagging eldritch energies for healing, but they flowed too feebly, nearing their limit. A realization, unbidden and unwelcome, suddenly struck him. He was going to die alone on this forgotten tower. Images spilled into his thoughts. His father, the old mercenary, whose quiet laugh descended into reedy coughs in great mirth. The dark elf mother he never knew, her appearance painted…
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Wurhi the Rat tore through the forest as though the hounds of hells followed. Branches and thickets slapped her face, stinging her skin. The barking in her wake drew closer. As she came to the pit, St. Cristabel rose quickly, placing her stylus and wax tablet on the hull of her boat. “You triumphed!” she gasped. “No!” Wurhi ran for the tree with the vine coiled around its branch. “Did you break that fat, cheese-hided, goat licker’s arm?” “That “The big oaf that leads these…
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Kyembe turned to the wall and roared out in Garric. “You have come a long way for this little quarrel, Bear-Breaker!” He aimed his ring where Avernix’s heir stood, but dared not fire yet. A miss would just drive the conqueror’s son out of reach. “ Kyembe barked a hard laugh. “Would that I did!” “Liar! You, that ugly little whelp and those three worthless whores came at him while he lay hindered by drink! It’s the only way you could have bettered any of us! Cowards! We would have fed…
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“You are pursued? I can aid you!” St. Cristabel snatched up her shield. “Throw the vine to me!” “There is no time!” Kyembe cried. “They are on top of us!” The armoured warrior growled in frustration. “Then flee! From a treetop I saw a tower fifty paces northeast! Tis fallen, but defensible!” She stabbed a gauntleted finger toward them. “ They raced northeast, bursting through thickets, keeping the giant trunks between their backs and hungry arrows. Into a clearing they broke, and…
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Arms wheeling, Wurhi threatened to overbalance as Kyembe stared in open-mouthed horror. Catching herself just before she fell, she looked to the pit sharply. The armoured figure gave no notice. Her song continued. Kyembe, tensed like a bowstring, visibly relaxed after a few breaths. “Be careful!” he hissed through gritted teeth. She winced and nodded apologetically. Shaking his head, he made to move away. His foot loudly crushed a fallen bird’s nest. They froze. The song cut off. “ “I am…
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