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Tasha At Talon's Nook -- Chapter Five |
| Written by J. Brown | |
| Sunday, 13 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      She rolled her head over with a sharp gasp of pain, seeing the long trail of bodies and shattered weapons that lead down the road to the spot she was in. She could see her glaive stuck in a tree, and she tried to reach for it and use her summoning magic, but she couldn't get her arms to move anymore. She was cold, so cold, and getting colder with every feeble thump of her heart. She had the presence of mind to marvel at the size of the pool that her blood had made around her. There was so much of it that she had to wonder how she was still conscious. Looking again to the sword that was rammed through her stomach, pinning her to the road, she closed her eyes, and began to pray to the Ancestral Spirits while she still had the time to do so. "Spirits, I beg of thee to protect the people of Talon's Nook, for I have failed them. Instead of salvation, I have led them only to slaughter. I ask naught for myself, for I have proven to not be worthy, but only for the safety of those whom I was sent to protect. Please look over them. Please guard....them..." And with a last cough that gurgled blood across her face and neck, she died. Buddy found Tookey and Eld standing at the edge of town facing the Southerly road, serious expressions riding their faces. In the two days since they exiled Peavey, and during the preparations for the battle with Fat Murrah, the two men had become fast friends, and were often found together, giving pointers to the twenty farmers and townsfolk that had volunteered for the town's defense. It had been fewer people than Tasha had hoped, but all of them were fervent in their desire to defend their home, and Tasha and her motley band had been happy to have them alongside for the fight. Many more were helping prepare defenses, and even the surly old man that had been outside the sheriff's office two days ago was in the fields, overseeing a band of kids that were piling up a wind-row of dried straw where Tookey had told them to place it, then placing pots of lamp oil in them. "Hearty days." exclaimed Buddy as he walked up to the pair, and they both nodded to him before returning their attention southward. Buddy sidled up alongside them. "Still worried?" "Aye." Replied Tookey with a nod. "I can't bring myself to find any comfort in this." "I understand." said Buddy. "But I saw what she did in the bandit camp, and I've got to tell you that she can handle herself." "Valkyrie or no, she's just a wee slip of a girl, and a damned tender age to be taking on such odds." Tookey said resolutely. Eld turned to Buddy. "I didn't see what happened at the camp because I was unconscious, but I'm forced to agree with Tookey. I've regretted letting her go alone ever since she vanished in yon woods. We never should have let her talk us into this." Buddy hung his head with a sigh. "Like any of us could have changed her mind?" He stepped around in front of the two of them, looking up at them. "See here. What we have to do is get the town ready. We've no idea whether or not Tasha is alright until she stands before us, but we do know that Fat Murrah is coming to kill us all, or sell us for slaves, or whatever it is that he's going to try. The two of you standing here pining away at the mouth of the road is setting a bad example to the rest of the town. And I, for one, think they're probably already scared enough. They need their sergeants over there feeding them strength, not over here looking like whipped pups. Am I making sense?" Tookey looked down at the tiny man, brow furrowed in thought, then a slight smile broke across his face. "Aye. For someone with such a tiny head, you've got good thoughts up there. You're as right as rain, friend." "Aye." agreed Eld. "That you are." "Good. You two go help with the defenses. People here trust you more because you're human like them. I'm going out to look for Tasha, since no one in Talon's Nook takes me seriously, and I don't know that much about sieging." "But... you said..." stammered Tookey. "I said I thought she could handle herself. I didn't say that I wasn't worried. But the fact remains that the two of you can do more good here than I can, and I'm the one best suited to go and check on her. Everyone needs help sometimes, even me. Even a Valkyrie." Eld cracked a grim smile at the little man, then reached out his hand. "Spoken like a true friend. Fare thee well, then. Watch your back out there." Buddy took the hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "May fortune fill your pockets, my fine friend. I'll be back soon." Tookey seized him up in a massive hug that left his feet dangling, then dropped him back onto the road. "May the Gods protect you." "Ah, nuts." replied Buddy. "Save it for our enemies. But thanks anyway." With that, Buddy turned and started down the road. As he entered the woodline, he turned and gave a jaunty wave to his two friends, and then he was gone. Eld gave a slight sigh of sadness at having their number cut in half, then he and Tookey turned back towards town. He still had a strong feeling that something had gone horribly wrong. The man in the brown robe shaved off just the right amount of root, letting the slivers fall into the bubbling cauldron. It reeked horribly, the gruel inside a nasty green-brown color that was showing bits of leaves and grasses floating through it from where he'd had to rush the formula, for time was running out to complete the stew. Time was running out for all of them, and he was very afraid that his decision to tease Fat Murrah on his way to Talon's Nook had cost them all dearly. Morosely, he added another log to the fire under the cauldron, and walked outside the shanty that he had taken up residence in for a breath of fresh air away from the noxious fumes from the cauldron. The shanty was close to the bandit camp, and well supplied with firewood and sundries, leading him to believe that Fat Murrah's men had used it to watch the road without being seen. It was well off the road on the far side from the camp, and ramshackle in appearance from the outside, but sturdy. The stream was a short walk behind it, and a trail led from the shanty to it. He set off down the trail, getting himself a cold, refreshing drink of water, listening to the birds chirping and the scurrying forest animals getting out of his way. His heart was too heavy to enjoy the woods, as he normally did, so he quickly returned to the shanty to check the stew, giving the pot another stir to keep it cooking evenly. As he did, he looked at the shroud-wrapped corpse of Tasha Lightfoot laying on a mat in the corner, shaking his head in sadness at his failure. Buddy made good time down the road, for he was traveling light, having left most of his things back at Tookey's. He only had a small sack of sandwiches tied to his belt, his gruelling stick, and his elvish cloak. He would have ridden a horse, but his elvish cloak wouldn't hide it, and he felt as though he should travel cautiously. The warm evening and the happy smell of wildflowers did nothing to ease his anxiety, and there were several times that he had to fight the urge to break into a run. He kept a steady pace as the sun fell to his right, and when it came time to stop and make camp, he kept going. He'd never had many friends, and as a result, he'd never taken the few he'd had for granted. He walked on, into the night, determination stamped across his small, kind face. Fat Murrah tossed and turned in his bunk, dreaming of the day. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he was mumbling to himself. His movement was limited by the splint on his left leg from where the ***** had cut his horse from under him with her damned star thing that she'd been throwing like lightening bolts, weapon snapping through men so fast that it was hard to keep track of. His horse had been hit in the neck, and he'd snapped his left leg upon hitting the ground. He was feverish with the pain of it, and the fever was giving him nightmares by replaying the day for him, over and over again. *He was astride his horse as they had come around the bend, finding the girl in the middle of the road in front of them, a sword in her right hand, and the funny little star-weapon in her left. Her face, although beautiful, had all the anger and punishments of the twelve hells in it, a fury that Fat Murrah had never seen in all his days of crime. Her red cloak had been tossed back over her shoulders, exposing her long lithe body, the red breastplate and armguard, red crotch plate, and thigh-high armored boots. Were it not for the drawn weapons and serious expression that she wore, he would have thought her a prostitute fresh off her back from work. And in his fevered dreams, she had an aura of light around her, a heavenly glow, with energy snapping off her like a miniature lightening storm. Her voice boomed across the distance at him, deafening, thunderous in it's volume. "Fat Murrah, I come to you on behalf of the innocents murdered along this road..." That had been when he realized that the crazy old coot with the wineskin had been right. A Valkyrie had come into the valley of Talon's Nook, come for his head. He'd ordered his men to attack en mass, and the first twenty had died as fast as they had reached her, she a whirling, spinning, slashing horror of death. He had a crystal-clear memory of an arm sailing through the air, spewing blood from it's stump to mark it's course as it arced into the woods, still holding it's sword tightly the entire flight. By the time he lost sight of it in the underbrush along the road, she'd dropped two more of his men, and she was coming, coming. He realized that she was grinning as she came, a terrible grin that matched the murder in her green eyes, and then her left hand snapped forward, her throwing weapon coming straight at him. The whirring noise spooked his horse, which jerked it's head up to see what the sound was just in time, taking the weapon in the throat as it whisked below the chin. Blood splashed Fat Murrah from belly to head, hot and coppery and thick, and then the horse was falling, and him with it. Darkness came as he hit the road...* Fat Murrah groaned again in his sleep, haunted and feverish. His first lieutenant, a Carpattan named Trellcon who served as a liaison to the Carpattan slave trains, watched him thoughtfully, his hand caressing the jeweled hilt of the dagger that he wore. It was a gift from a Carpattan warlord that Trellcon had put into power by assassinating the former warlord. As he watched the fevered murmurings of Fat Murrah, he was beginning to wonder if it wasn't time for another blade to the heart. The fat bastard wasn't fit to run the bandits to begin with, and Trellcon was almost ready to take make his move. The first thing that Buddy noticed as he walked through the woods into the night was the smell of blood. The light breezes that penetrated the heavy woods carried it to him, faintly at first, then heavier and heavier until the faint moonlight began showing him lumps in the road, which he found to be bodies upon cautious investigation. Blood was streaked and splattered around them, creating a nightmarish artwork on the canvas of the road. He made his way carefully and softly through the carnage, watching his footing so as to not disturb anything. The pattern of the bodies told him that this had to be Tasha's work, for there were only bandit corpses laid out into a trail for a distance up the road, mixed with shattered weapons and severed limbs from her sword's enchantment. Then he saw something that made his blood run cold, his heart skipping a beat with dread. He made his way over to the tree, looking up at Tasha's glaive where it was imbedded about six hands high. He closed his eyes and sighed, fighting back tears, then climbed up the tree until he could reach it. Tentatively, he stuck out his hand and touched it, fearing that it would do exactly what it did: which was nothing. There was no shock that caused him to jerk his hand back this time as there was the day before they raided the bandit camp... "... never touch a Valkyrie's weapons." she had told him, because they were protected. But now here her glaive sat embedded in a tree. She would never leave it so long as she drew breath. And if the protective magics were gone, that meant that it was no longer a Valkyrie's weapon. That meant that she was dead. Buddy wiped a tear from his eye, then reached up and began to work the weapon back and forth in an effort to pull it from the tree.It finally gave with a hearty jerk, and that was when he heard the twang of the crossbow string, and the bolt hit him in the ribs on the right side. He gave a cry, losing his grip and falling from the tree. He hit the ground hard, still clutching the glaive in his hand. He reached around with his other hand, clutching at the arrow and trying to pull it out, but it was sunk deep in his small chest. Blood began to dribble across his lips as he heard boots running up, crashing through the underbrush, and then he was surrounded by bandits. "Ah tolja they'd send sum'un to look fer ‘er." one of them cried triumphantly, brandishing his empty crossbow. Buddy could see four bandits around him, looking down with expressions of triumph on their faces. It hurt to breathe. "Well, why is it only this little runt?" asked another. "Who knows?" said the first. "Mebbe they ain't got no ‘un else." The second bandit gave a thoughtful grunt, then shrugged. "Well, maybe so. But now they ain't got this one, either." He lowered his crossbow and fired another bolt through Buddy's heart, and everything went dark. Tasha's glaive slid out of his lifeless hand. The man in the brown robe sipped the ladle, tasting the concoction that he had brewed, rapidly spitting the foul-tasting broth of it back out. It was as ready as he could get it, and he drew a dagger from within the fold of his robe and closed his eyes, beginning a quiet chant. After a moment, he grasped the blade of the dagger, holding his hand over the cauldron, and slid the dagger out of his clutched hand. Silver-green blood began to drip from his cut palm into the cauldron with a hiss. Continuing to chant, he began to squeeze his clinched fist to make the blood flow more freely, until he was sure that he had enough in the pot. Then he wrapped his hand in a clean bandage, still chanting. The liquid in the cauldron began to emit a soft glow, faint in the firelight of the cabin. Trellcon made his decision the next morning with the return of the Carpattan slave train to the camp. As they arrived, he smiled a deadly smile, and slid the jeweled dagger from it's sheath and looked down at the fevered body of Fat Murrah, then unceremoniously slit his throat with a clean, fast swipe. Fat Murrah's eyes snapped open, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times as though he were a fish gasping for air, his hand reaching out to Trellcon as though he might take it back, then he collapsed, his eyes remaining open, staring at nothing as blood began to pool on the mat he'd been laying on. Trellcon wiped the dagger upon that travesty of a tunic that the fat man had stolen on the last raid, then slid it into it's sheath and left the tent. The Carpattans were dismounting their horses when he emerged, and he greeter the train leader with an embrace. "It is done, my brother." said Trellcon. His brother nodded, beaming with joy. "So now you are a bandit chieftain, are you?" "No, I am a Carpattan, the same as you. The same as our father was." he gave his brother a faux sad face. "But Fat Murrah was bewitched, and had to be dealt with. So now I have his men. It is good that you have come; it seems our time here in these woods is coming to a close." "You runner spoke of a Valkyrie, now slain. I returned as fast as I could." "We do not have much time to prepare. How many men do you have with you?" His brother's brow crinkled with thought. "I have one hundred that will fight. The rest are needed to guard the slaves." "Good. I have about thirty left, but their allegiance is unknown to me. It is of no concern for what I want to do. They will either follow me," he turned to his brother with a tight grin, "or leave with you." "What is it that you plan to do?" asked his brother. "We're coming with you, it's time to find a new location to operate from. But first, we go into Talon's Nook and take every man, woman , and child. Without their witch, they will be easy pickings for us." Trellcon's brother laughed and gave him a pat on the back. "Father always said that you had a nose for opportunity." Trellcon's face broke into a fond smile as he remembered his father. "Come with me, it's time to tell the men the sad tale of Fat Murrah's bewitching and death. We will ride on Talon's Nook with the dawning of the sun, and be gone from this cursed forest by lunch. I can't wait to see the desert again." Copyright 2008 J. Brown |
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