inspire-indiana The Wizard-King's Truth I
The Wizard-King's Truth I
The Wizard-King's Truth I
As morning broke, Kyembe, Wurhi and St. Cristabel continued their journey north to Gergorixs city.
A mans scream shuddered through the western foliage, piercing the dawn and echoing through the colossal trunks. Wurhi the Rat dropped into a defensive crouch. An ogres bellow followed. The Zabyallans little hand gripped a bronze sword plundered from the body of one of Eppons trackers. It trembled as it hung ready to strike. What was that?
Shh! Kyembe raised a hand, while the other had his sword on guard. It seems some of Avernixs muster might have escaped their fellows slaughter at the camp we passed earlier. They are being hunted.
Another scream sounded from the east.
Poor devils. St. Cristabel adjusted her boat balanced over her broad shoulders. Her plate quietly clinked and the pack on her back rocked, large enough to overburden a mule. In her free gauntlet she bore her bearing sword. Alone and wandering in these deadly landsthey do not stand a chance.
I hate this stinking place, Wurhi muttered.
The Traemean adjusted her visor. Ogres are a vicious race and slayers of men, but some can be bartered with if one speaks their tongue. Not these. Danu the Bottomless rules this great swath of forest, and she is hunger given flesh. The rest follow her mould. They will not let a single one escape.
Oh good. They werent just dealing with ogres. They were dealing with especially hungry and vicious ogres. For the ten thousandth time, Wurhi cursed the moment shed stepped foot in these lands.
It would be good if they hunted the old wizard down, Kyembe grumbled. Many ogres were burned in that massacre; his doing no doubt. I am sure he still lives. His crimson eyes narrowed as he looked around them. He is out in the green somewhere, still after his prize.Updated from
Or maybe hes waiting for us, looking for revenge, Wurhi added uneasily.
Perhaps.
Mayhaps that would be better, St. Cristabel added gravely. We stride into the beasts den. An ambush now can be reversed; an ambush in the midst of battling a tribe of ogres would bring some disquiet.
We will not battle an entire tribe of ogres. Kyembe gave her a look. Not until the egg is in our hands. Once we have its power, we could battle all of Cymorillia for all I care.
She gave him a look. He said nothing else.
As the idols of Gergorixs time protected his people, they came across the effigies of the regions current inhuman masters. Snarling faces with too many horns carved into titanic tree trunks. Branches twisted into towering monsters, capped with grinning mastodon skulls further crowned by rhinoceros horns. Bramble baskets hanging from trees, swaying and rattling with grim contents: hundreds of bones painted ghastly colours.
The echoing screams died out.
Avernixs fleeing warriors seemed not to have made it this far.
How odd, St. Cristabel muttered behind them. We are well within the bower of these beasts, yet not a single sentry watches.
Kyembe threw her a troubled look and bent to the path. We are still on an old road, and the footprints smother each other in the earth. They come this way often. He looked up to the trees. The path should be well-guarded.
Wurhi sniffed the air and frowned. I smell ash.
The Sengezian swore and began to move quickly.
They came upon their answer not a hundred paces down the path. A crude watch-post had been made in one of the trees. From it hung a solid thickly woven vine leading to a branch so massive that a carriage could drive along it. A nest was built there, comfortable enough for a sentry to stay in, but no watcher lay within.
An ogre lay crumpled face-down on the earth below with one of its horns snapped off.
Kyembe examined it grimly, seizing it by its shattered shoulder but struggling with its weight. He made a noise of disgust and turned to the Traemean knight. Why did I bother? Can you turn it?
St. Cristabel cracked her neck. The saint planted her sword and upturned the giants corpse with one hand, rolling it as though it were a mere sack of grain. Its dead eyes stared emptily and ash blackened its lips, pouring down the front of its chest. Wurhi hissed, remembering how the wizard had slain a man by burning his lungs from the inside. How the terrible ember had killed with hardly a glow, hiss, or sound.
He has arrived first! Kyembe snarled in frustration. We have little time! Come!