Interrupted Journey

[McIan]

“We are taking a big chance, Rosso. These jungles are normally hazardous anyway, but with the reports out of Delucia, the idea of getting there safely eludes me,” one of the caravan drivers, Hansen, remarked to the leader. Rosso was a big, burly, bearded man who rode his horse back and forth among the six ox-drawn wagons, waving his whip, pretending to spur everyone on. Most of the drivers ignored or laughed at him and his unabashed sense of self-importance.

“The sooner we get there, the better then!” he barked. “You’re all slow as snails. This road just isn’t that bad and fairly dry for this time of year. Now get going! Increase the pace so we can get there before dark!”

Hansen spat and shook his head. “Idiot,” he muttered.

Rosso had hired only two guards for the group; two native Papuans, brothers, named Dunim and Derem, both well-trained with bow and sword. One posted himself at the head of the caravan and the other at the rear. Thus far in the journey they had seen some action; killing handily a few mongbats and giant serpents that had dared to approach with hostile intent. They were both on foot and barefoot, their natural preference. The grainy touch of earth beneath the soles of their feet, linking them to it, appealed to their spiritual nature. They claimed they could detect any approach thereby, and they proved it this day.

“Stop the line!” Derem yelled, holding his hand to the side of his mouth to increase the volume. “Something is coming! Take cover!”

As the drivers halted their wagons and dropped the reins of their charges to scoot inside the relative safety of the hide-covered bonnet protecting the merchandise from the elements, an ear-splitting roar sent their nape-hairs rising. Dunim and Derem, joining forces nearest where they heard the sound, were not so affected, though the roar was quite unlike any they could remember. Dunim drew his sword while Derem notched an arrow into his short bow. They stood together, Dunim in front in a defensive stance, while Derem knelt and drew back the bowstring slowly.

Out of the jungle brush lining the edge of the road sprang an enormous wolf, fangs slavering, glaring at the two men; the only ones he could see as Rosso had, for reasons known only to him, galloped away, down the road ahead. Derem’s arrow sank deeply into the fore chest of the beast. It howled and charged him recklessly, paying no heed to the bleeding wound. Dunim stepped forward, sword arm raised high above and swung downward, aiming to cleave the wolf’s skull in one blow, but the beast skidded to a stop and reared back its head. The blade struck the ground, and, as Dunim recovered to strike again, the wolf leaped upon him, savagely biting his face, deflecting the Papuan’s useless attempts to block him. He cried out in pain and fell back, striking his head on a wheel of a wagon to lie limply, bleeding, beside it. Seeing his brother fall, Derem threw down his bow and drew his dagger, lunging at the beast which was preparing to finish off its prey. He stabbed the beast three times, deep, penetrating wounds that would have felled any normal wolf, but this one refused to go down. It turned to attack, but then, its ears pricked up and, totally ignoring the confused and shocked warrior, simply ran away back into the jungle from whence it came. Derem, making sure it had truly departed the scene, sheathed the dagger and went to where his brother had fallen. Taking his head in his arms and stroking his forehead, he could see he was dead. Tears rolled from his dark eyes, down his face, and onto the corpse. He wept aloud and long, and it was only then that the drivers and their fearless leader appeared from their hiding places, to offer meager, vain, words of consolation.

 

[McIan]

Scar sat down to his breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. He was, as usual, starving. As the eggs touched his palate, his eyes widened, and he spat the food back onto his plate. “What in the nine hells?!” Something wasn’t at all right with them; they tasted far too spicy than usual, and salty as well. Korbin, the Papuan chef of the haven-home named Sanctuary, stood near the food cabinet, his back to him, as if lost in thought. “Korbin, may I have a word with you, please?”

Korbin nodded absently, turned, and walked slowly over to stand on the other side of the table, across from him. “Yes sir?” It was clear that he had been crying; wet streams trickled down his otherwise dry face. “Is anything wrong?”

Scar immediately forgot about the eggs. “Korbin, what is it? Why are you crying?”

Korbin sat down in a chair. He lowered his head and broke down, sobbing. Scar got up to go over to him, patting him on the back. “The eggs weren’t that bad, buddy,” he teased, trying to cheer him up.

“My… friend… Dunim. He’s dead. Murdered by some wild beast,” he explained. “Derem is beside himself and I am stuck here,” he added.

Scar sat down next to him and leaned in close. “What? How? Can you tell me?”

Wiping his eyes Korbin raised his head, but made no eye contact with Scar. “They were guarding a caravan from Papua to Delucia. A gigantic wolf attacked it. They tried to stop it, and wounded it for sure, but it killed Dunim. I got word from my sister in Papua.”

The words hit Scar like a thunderbolt. “A wolf you say?” He sat back. Korbin nodded. Stroking his goatee, Scar got up and began pacing. “You take your leave, Korbin. Go, and stay as long as you need to.”

“I’m sorry about the eggs.”

“Never mind that. Make sure the people are warned, and safe. Make sure they stay on alert.”

Korbin rose, thanked him and exited the dining hall.

I have had about enough of this! I will go and find out what is going on myself! Someone is going to pay in blood for this… by all the gods they will!!

 

[McIan]

One Down, One to Go

“He’s done for,” the wolf handler concluded, having examined the terrible wounds in the creature he had trained since a pup. The animal lay prostrate at his feet, bleeding profusely, it’s life’s end only moments away. “They got him good,” he continued. “The arrow just missed his heart but got the lungs, and the knife wounds, well, they…”

“Skip the details, Oleth. It’s dying. Help it along if you need to,” Malikai directed, with no trace of sympathy in his tone. “How many are left?”

Oleth looked up from his kneeling position beside the huge wolf as it gave its last gasp. “Just one now, Howler, the oldest. What will we do when he’s gone?”

“We train more, and more, and more, what else?”

“Aren’t we running low on that, that, booster stuff we give them?”

“Booster stuff?” Malikai rolled his eyes. Dealing with the semi-literate was bad enough, he thought, but these, he felt quite sure, were semi-conscious. “That is none of your concern. Just make sure you get Howler up to speed. We will lie low a few days and then attack again.”

“I think he got somebody,” Oleth observed, seeing the blood on its bared fangs and muzzle. “Got him good! I think I see some bone in there” he said, picking a fragment from between the dead beast’s teeth to examine it.

“The only bone I see is your head! Now get to it! And keep an eye out in case he left a blood trail that can be followed. Clean it up if you find one.” He turned away shaking his head.

These churn-heads will be the death of me!

 

[McIan]

One Enemy Too Many

“I’m sick and tired of his insults,” Oleth sneered. “I’d like to stove his head in.”

His companion, another tamer named Murren, nodded agreement, “He is the same with all of us. He thinks we are all just a bunch of backwood hayseeds.”

They sat together at night beside a blazing campfire. Oleth picked his caramel-hued incisors, what remained of them, with a small homemade toothpick. Murren stoked the flames, tossing in another log to ensure the flames remained robust. They were discussing Malikai, the preening, dandified, boss of the outfit that was enlarging, training, and directing timber wolves for him.

“You know he had Bogryn killed, right?” Murren remarked.

“No, but I am not surprised. Hobkin tells him everything.”

“Aye, we need to watch out for him too.”

“He can die too, for all I care.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying that I am getting out of this accursed business! And if you were smart, you would too. How long do you think it will take for the authorities to finally track us down? What will happen then? I’ll tell you… Malikai and Hobkin will disappear like the maggots they are, leaving us to take all the heat. They’ll toss us all into a hole like sodded knickers.”

Murren winced at that. “What makes you so sure? They are paying us well enough.” He sat back, lying against a fallen log, clasping his hands behind his head.

“Well, I am not waiting for it to happen. First thing, I am going to settle accounts with the fop, grab what loot I can, and leave this stinking hellhole. Why not come with me? We’ll split, fifty-fifty.”

The other man tilted his head, contemplating his options. “Let me think on it,” he answered.

Oleth pulled his dagger out of its sheath and began sharpening it with a flintstone. He glanced at his partner. “Just don’t take too long,” he grinned.

 

[McIan]

Close Shave

Being awakened from deep slumber from a pin-prick at the throat was not something Malikai had ever imagined, much less desired, but such was the case this night. His eyes opened and, when they properly focused, he locked eyes with Oleth who stood over his cot as he lay on his back. The gleaming point of the dagger that had garnered his attention rested gently below his chin. “Good morning, guvnor,” Oleth greeted him. “You would be dead now except I could not find the right lock box… and don’t think I haven’t looked. Now, where is it? Be quick about it!”

“You have me at a disadvantage, Ollie,” Malikai taunted. “But are you really so stupid as to believe I would hand over the only thing that now keeps my throat from being cut? Are you that taken by my naturally generous nature?”

“You don’t have a generous nature, lout! And if you don’t give me the box, you won’t have a tongue to wag anymore either,” he threatened, pushing the dagger point deeper into his soft flesh. “The box. My patience dwindles.”

“Leave him be, Oleth,” came a voice from behind his would-be executioner, but Malikai could see no one. “No need to kill him. Let’s just take what we’ve found and go. I don’t want a bunch of disgruntled necromaniacs on our tail, and if you kill him, they’ll hunt us down.”

“Forget it! I’ve seen him with the lock box. He keeps it in here somewhere and by now it has to be filled with gold and gems from the booty we’ve collected for him,” Oleth countered.

Malkai’s mind raced wildly. The lock box did not exist; it was merely a decoy. He used an ordinary wooden box for show when payment came. He would pay them from it, and then take it back into his tent to be placed among all the others. The gold and gems were kept in a pouch that lay in a deep pocket of the Master’s shade’s hooded shroud, and it was not present, sadly, or else he would not be in this dire predicament.

He stifled a chortle. It does indeed seem they will be the death of me!

Yet he could not suppress a grin.

“What’s so funny? You think I’m joking?” Oleth’s voice rose, his anger mounting. Malikai could see the man bracing himself to shove the dagger in. He closed his eyes.

A groan and slight nick of his throat forced his eyes open. Oleth had pitched forward and in so doing had grazed his throat with the dagger. Malikai clutched at the wound and was pleased to see only a slight smattering of blood on the fingers of his hand. He rose up in bed and saw that Oleth lay unconscious on the floor beside him. Malikai looked up at his rescuer, Murren. “Th… Thank you! I will reward you for this.”

Murren smiled grimly and then revealed his own dagger, thrusting it close to his face. “You will indeed, Master Malikai. Like he said, be quick about it.”

 

[McIan]

Ransom Note

(A message is delivered by a tamed raven to the Castellan of Schloss von Blut who then gives it to the one to whom it is addressed)

“Master Racsen,

I, Malikai, have been kidnapped. I am reporting also that all the trained wolves have been set free, though not by me. The camp is now deserted. I am to tell you only that my release comes with a price in gold or gems to the sum of 1 million. If this is agreeable to you, the money is to be brought to Britain bank, either one, and deposited into the account of “Toby Gillens.” When that is confirmed, I will be set free at once, unharmed. If within two days this sum is not deposited, I will be delivered in pieces to one of the locations in Dominion where you reside. It is my earnest desire that you do this. I am and always have been a faithful and loyal servant. I will repay the sum in entirety if freed no matter how long it takes.

Your faithful servant,

Malikai”

 

[McIan]

Reply and Release

The agent upon whom Damian relied in large part to enforce his will among his subjects appeared before him in his great hall. It bowed and awaited command. "Please, be seated," Damian offered, extending his hand to a nearby ebony stone chair. The agent moved to it and sat down. "I have a problem that requires remedy. You shall aid me in solving it."

* * *​

The two enhanced timber wolves, one male and one female, a recent arrival, stayed together after fleeing the camp, being released by Oleth the night before. They sensed trouble, and danger, by remaining near the camp, and, as their unnaturally ravenous appetites decreed, they went immediately on killing sprees: mongbats, which were always plentiful in the Lost Lands, serpents, smaller wolves, and the occasional ostard if they could catch it. They moved northeast and, as they did, the smell of cooked food and sweating human flesh filled their nostrils and fueled their hunger. They neared Papua, being careful to remain unseen, as they stalked its perimeter, sizing up its inhabitants, deciding when and where to strike first.

 

[McIan]

The Hunt Begins

The two Papuan dock workers never knew what hit them, as the two giant wolves came barreling out of the tall bushes south of the pier and leapt upon them, rending and tearing flesh before dragging their lifeless bodies away. The other dock workers fled in terror, dropping the crates they were unloading from a boat. Greatly encouraged by the enlistment of armed warriors collected shortly thereafter, the workers returned to the scene. They found nothing but blood swaths where the canines had dragged the bodies off into the jungle to devour them at their leisure.

“This is the second attack in two days,” the town archon stated to no one in particular. “We’ve got to get them before they kill anyone else.”

“This is Delucia all over again,” a warrior commented. “I heard they had been attacked and now it is our turn.”

“What can we do?” another asked.

The archon scratched his head after removing his wide-brimmed hat. “Well, we’ve got to cut down the tall grass, the undergrowth, and some of the surrounding trees. We’ll make sort of a fire break, a clearing, so they cannot slip up on us again,” he suggested, feeling confident of his plan.

“Why not build a stockade? We’ve never had one. Our town is open to anything that wants to attack. Remember the Ophidians? They were upon us before we knew what hit us.”

“We can try that, but my thinking is it won’t keep them out completely. We’ve got to have guard posts, fire pits, volunteers who will stay up all night. We need to set pit traps and the like, hire hunters, force the beasts to move on to easier pickings.”

“Let’s get to it. No more killings! We might send word to Delucia, and beyond, to see if we can get help.”

The archon nodded. “I will see to that today. The rest of you decide who is to take charge of the defenses. We need spaced fire pits, fully manned, but before that, clear out the cover. Stay together, in groups of five at least, three guards to two workers. Poison your weapons. We will get these mad dogs one way or another!”

 

[McIan]

Rededicatioin

The man, Toby Gillens, his hands and feet shackled, stood before Damian in the great hall of his castle. He was shivering, not merely due to the damp chill in the air, but mainly out of fear – for what he had seen of, and heard within, the dungeon of Castlemare nearby, had elicited it. His facial expression portrayed a man facing certain doom, having no means of escaping it, though not entirely resigning himself to it.

“What have you done with my servant, Malikai? Where is he?” Damian inquired. “If you wish to live and not die slowly and painfully, you will answer truthfully,” he added.

Toby shook his head; the locks of his reddish hair, greasy and dirty, swaying. “I don’t know. I told the… lady…”

“Queen Virani,” Damian corrected.

“Queen Virani all I know. Oleth told me to go to the bank and see if the money was there.”

“Where is this Oleth?”

“I met him outside of Papua, to the west near the mountains but in the jungle. He had a camp set up there. I took it they would not be staying there long.” He lowered his head.

“Did you see my servant with him?”

“I saw somebody tied up and gagged. I guess it was him.”

“Describe his appearance. In detail.”

Toby’s description matched that of Malikai exactly. He also indicated he was not injured in any way.

Damian nodded approvingly. “You may dispel your fear; you shall not be tortured. I have another use for you.”

At this Toby raised his head, a faint glimmer of hope brightening his eyes. “You mean it?”

“I do. You are now my thrall; my servant. If you do well, you will be greatly rewarded. Does this appeal to you?”

Even if he had doubts, there was no other choice; he would accept anything offered. “Aye milord, it does! Thank you!”

“The first part is a trifle painful, but necessary. It will pass. Once initiated, you will understand and compliance will come naturally to you. You will see,” Damian explained. He waved his hand and Toby felt someone move swiftly to him from behind.

As the delicate but sharp fangs of Queen Virani sank into his neck, Toby’s legs shook and he dropped to his knees. The pain gave way to understanding, and thence to the welcoming embrace and enlightenment of a common, shared, purpose.

 

[McIan]

Malikai had tried several times to escape, first by offering monetary incentives unrelated to the one proposed by his captors, then by venting fear-inducing, raving threats and cursing, and finally by trying to transform into one of his favorite forms: a rat, a weasel, or squirrel. Yet all failed for one reason or another, the last being the pit into which he had been placed along with two hungry foxes; not enough moving room for such small tasty morsels.

“Why don’t you try another transformation, wise man?” Oleth taunted him from high above the pit. “Might as well. It looks like your ransom is not forthcoming, which means you won’t long be with us.”

“Why don’t you rot in the lowest hell,” he countered. “You might find it preferable than what my master will do to you when he finds you… and mark it down… he will.”

Oleth laughed but then his attention was diverted to his man, Toby, who had just entered the camp. Toby came up to him and they clasped arms in a sign of camaraderie. Oleth smiled. “It’s about time! I hadn’t heard a word in days! I was about to give you up for lost.”

Toby looked around. “Where are the others?” he asked, referring to the three other men Oleth had brought into his gang.

“Never mind them. What did you find out?”

Toby sat down, feigning fatigue. “That’s a long walk from Papua. You moved the camp on me.”

“I told you I would, but I also told you I would remain in the area,” Oleth explained, becoming exasperated. “What did you find out?” he repeated.

“It’s a big area! Give me a minute, will you? I’m worn out and half drained of blood from these accursed bugs!”

Oleth sighed and stood scowling, folding his arms. “Payment or no? What’s the word?” Behind him he heard a series of thumping sounds, as if something big had strolled in. He turned to look, and then looked down. Three heads lay on the ground near his feet. His eyes widened and he unfolded his arms. He heard a rustle and when he turned back, Toby was upon him, hands around his neck.

“No!!” a piercing, commanding, feminine, voice sounded.

“He is mine!”

 

[Deminatza]

Lost and Found

Virani emerged with her eyes transfixed on Toby’s captive, beside her the wraith matched the queen's stride on silent feet, their scythe newly wetted, however not yet satiated demanding one more victim.

“Toby,” Virani cooed, “You may relax your hold, but keep him restrained.”

She turned to the wraith, “Find him” she commanded.

The wraith bowed slightly, in acknowledgement to the directive, then set out to carry the queen’s bidding, but not before hearing her ask superciliously, “What did you hope to accomplish?"

They made their way to the pit, easily dispatched the two foxes, tossed down a rope to Malikai and waited to bring him to the queen.

 

[McIan]

Oleth swallowed hard, clutching his bruised neck where Toby, with superhuman strength, had held him transfixed, then tossed him to the ground at his feet like he weighed nothing. He briefly considered running away, but when he saw the wraith-like form wielding a bloodied scythe, rising from the pit, and then the dark, imposing, figure of a woman wearing a hooded robe, hands on hips in sublime confidence, blocking easy egress to the forest, he hesitated. “Do not even consider it. You’ll only die tired. You did not answer my question. What did you hope to accomplish?”

Oleth shook his head and rose to his feet. “I don’t know… I thought…”

“Therein lies your first mistake. You were hired to do, not think. We were paying you handsomely as promised. A few simple tasks is all we asked. But no, you had to let your rapaciousness get the best of you.”

Malikai climbed out of the pit and dusted himself off. If glares could kill, Oleth would have fallen over lifeless that instant. “Stupid pig!” he snarled, gritting his teeth. His backhand spun Oleth’s head sideways as blood spurted from his lips. “It’s over for you!”

* * *​

Damian eyed the man carefully, as he tapped his sharp fingernails lightly on the arm of his throne. “Normally I heartily approve of chaotic, reflexive, behavior, but, sadly, this time I cannot let it pass. You see, sometimes we are forced to obey rules if for no other reason than because another is more powerful. In this case, you did not, and I am.”

Oleth, bound with chains on his wrists, stared at the floor. “I am undone,” he mumbled.

“You are. My queen has… needs. You will sate them.” He waved to a guard. “Return him to Castlemare, to his cell. If he attempts to escape, only maim him. Do not kill him. The queen would be greatly displeased by it. Like a sensible feline, she enjoys playing with her dinner.”

The echoes of Oleth’s pleadings reverberated within the castle, but there was none who would listen; none who cared.

 

[McIan]

“Explain what happened, Malikai. This is the first time your efforts have failed. It surprised me, I must say. We do not want it to become a habit, do we?” Damian smiled as he sat across from his servant at the dinner table.

Malikai was famished from his ordeal and was busy gulping down ale to wash down the ham and cheese with which he had been stuffing himself. He stopped and wiped his mouth with his ragged shirt sleeve. “My lord, I was dealing with criminals; incompetents, the entire time. I hired them because they were all who were available in Buc’s Den. They viewed me as a sneering toady. I think they were also worried we would leave them in the lurch if things went bad,” he explained.

Damian nodded. “A not entirely mistaken notion for sure.”

“That man, Oleth, is a greedy little son of an orc… but he wasn’t the only one involved.”

“Was.”

Malikai looked puzzled. “Was, sire?”

“He is no longer greedy because he is no longer.”

Nodding, Malikai continued. “Good enough then! I would like to have skinned him myself.”

Damian chuckled. “That is not like you my friend. I like it.”

“I make exceptions milord.”

“Good. Now, since this ploy has run its course, we must try another. First, where are the freed wolves? It is reported to me that they have invested Papua. Find out but do not interfere with their depredations. Let them run free. I have a use for them when the time comes.”

“I shall see to it immediately, milord. What do you have in mind?”

“I think Papua, my son’s favorite town, deserves the attention of someone who excels in pillage. He needs to learn that his friends cannot always save it or him. I want that lesson brought home to him… plainly and pointedly.”

Not fully comprehending his master’s enigmatic words, Malikai nodded anyway. “Of whom do you speak milord?”

“The so-called mad pirate queen. I will send someone to parlay with her first. I know just the person to send,” he smiled, rising from his chair. “Finish your dinner and get some rest. Then leave as soon as you can for Papua,” he said, turning to leave. Then he stopped and looked back at his servant, his eyes grim and expression terse. “Do not let me down again.”

The next gulp Malikai took was bereft of food.