Chapter 5
"Augh!" Luc cried as he struggled against the magical energy that bound him. The cart driver laughed at his torment but continued to watch the road before him. "Damn it!" He cried as he continued to struggle hoping the bonds would break.
"Give up," the driver replied. "Soon you'll be sliced up on a Tilean table."
"You foul bastard! Why do you do this?" Luc roared at the man.
"As Madame Wyla said, money is powerful," the driver replied. "Besides we're mercenaries and this was a job we were paid for." He raised his whip to strike the horses and the increased speed caused Luc to jolt into the side of the cart. Like a bolt of lightning, the cart flipped on its side. Luc rolled out into a ditch.
"Draw your swords!" Came the cry of one of the men. Luc heard scuffling but from his position could see nothing. Blood flowed into the ditch and then Luc saw a sight that told him of the attackers. A green severed hand landed beside him.
"Orcs," he muttered to himself. "They won't survive this." After an hour, the sounds of combat ended and Luc prayed the victors, whichever side they were, would not find him. Then realizing his magical bonds no longer existed, realized it was the Orcs who were victorious.
Luc waited until night fell as the ditch protected him from the harsh rays of the sun. Upon evening, he rose and surveyed the grim picture of the combat. Many bodies lay dead but most were human. Wyla's body too lay impaled on a spear. Luc took this opportunity to drain what little blood the warriors have. Seeing the damaged cart, Luc realized the Orcs must have taken everything. He thanked the Lady that his artifacts were on his person and not in the possession of some greenskin. Walking over to the body of a slain mercenary, he took the rapier clutched in the man's grip and put it through a loop in his belt.
Having no idea where he was, Luc walked a little ways down the path until he saw a signpost at a crossroads. Pointing from the direction he had come, the sign read "The Southlands of Lustria". The arrow pointing to the left noted "The Port of Tilea". The final pointed right, but the markings were worn and it was illegible. However, it seemed the best path, as the others were of no value to his mission any longer.
As the path twisted and turned through swamp, Luc began to regret his decision. Vines and thorns tore at his bare skin and muck sucked his feet down into the slimy peat. When Luc finally found road again, he was filthy with blood and muck and the fluids dripped as he plodded along the road. Realizing his defensiveness, Luc looked for something other than a loincloth to clothe himself. Upon finding a dead deer, he skinned the creature and made himself a tunic. After putting it on, he turned to the road again.
Luc heard voices so he deftly jumped behind a shrub. He listened carefully.
"This isn't the way!"
"Marcus you fool! Were supposed to head east!"
"It isn't my fault!"
"Shaddup!"
Luc realized the two speakers seemed to be arguing about direction, a problem he was also having. Drawing his sword, he sprang out and readied himself.
"Who are you?" One questioned, quivering as he slowly drew two dirks.
"I am Luc de Fevre, Knight of Bretonnia. You have a map, correct?" Luc replied.
The men shuddered at the vampiric horror that stood before them. His hand shaking violently, one of the men reached into a haversack he carried and tossed a rolled up piece of parchment to Luc. He deftly caught it and unfurled the scroll. The map was accurate enough, but old. Many of the lines were faded and some of the words were in a script Luc could not decipher. The men ran full pelt away from him as their task was completed. Luc smiled a bit, and proceeded to observe the map further. From what he could tell, it seemed he was in northern Lustria, which was over three thousand leagues from his target, the Chaos Wastes.
Men are fools to venture into such a place, as it is wrought with demons and foul magiks. The men of this land are tainted with the blood of Chaos. They are hardened warriors, fearful of nothing, fighting only to serve their dark Gods. The winds there are said to bring waves of despair and death. But Luc did not fear such things.
Luc trekked along the path remembering a Cathayain proverb "A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step." Then, his shining foe appeared, and Luc crept into a grove and covered himself with leaves. How was he to complete this task? It could take months to reach his destination. Or was there some other place he could find demon blood? Luc thought he'd rest, and reflect on what to do.
End of Chapter 5